“And leave me to deal with the fairies for it? I think not.” Trevor went to the cupboard next and pulled out an armful of backpacks. “Sorry, Edward, but your fairy left you in my care. You belong here where it’s safe.”

Edward stood with a clatter. “And what about Cane? Why has he been sent to help while I’m trapped here?!” But the once-prince steadied himself. “Pinespittle. Apologies, Trevor,” he cursed when the Patrol Commander looked at him in surprise.

“We’re ready to go.” Mirkra stood in the doorway of the meeting room with his pointed hood up. He looked between Trevor and the once-prince. When the room rang with warm, tense silence, Mirkra slid back a step. Then another, and another, until he had disappeared back into the hall.

Edward sighed and folded his arms. “Go, then. May the forces of Winter aid you on your journey.”

Trevor came ‘round the table, fastening one of the packs to his back. The man was a mere quarter or three older than Edward. They had aged together this last season, both sprouting gray hairs beneath the pressure of the darkening Winter skies.

“Stay put,” Trevor said with apology. “The Patrol will be back by nightfall.”

Edward sat upon his quilted mattress, gripping the sides of his salt-streaked hair as he threw his legs over the bedside.

“Pinespittle,” he muttered as he stood from the bed to roam. The moon’s glow leaked in from the factory’s skylight.

“What am I to do?” he asked the silent night, for an eve or three had passed since Trevor had promised to return, and it had been even longer since Cane was supposed to be back.

Edward fidgeted with his fingers, pacing a measure. Finally, he spun and flung a bowl from the nightstand, which clattered against the wall and rolled across the hardwood before clunking against the door. His clamouring could not wake an empty factory. Edward looked at the stars past the murky gray haze cloaking the skylight.

Each folk who left had promised to come back.

Edward grabbed his cloak from the dresser, pulled on his hood, and set out through the metal hallways to the factory’s front door.

The night’s chill was harsh, but he walked and walked and walked as the skies lightened, the gentle fall of snow kissing his shoulders. He strode through a sleeping village, keeping to the alleys and travelling below bridges, and came out to a tree-scattered forest where the trail of blazed snow picked up, half muted by the morning’s snowfall. Edward hiked through the cold until the trail stopped in a vast, snowy meadow. He halted, gold eyes darting over the surface. The meadow was a disaster.