The river was half crusted with ice, the snow trampled where various wildlife and villagers had come for water. Trin tried not to think about the cold, or the fact even with the clothing in the pack, he’s wasn’t going to be warn again any time soon. The Binder hover behind him, the merest whist…

Once night had fallen, Fria led the child back towards the village to pick up the death gift. The traditional funeral offering of toys and treats was meant to usher the lost boy safely into the afterlife. Over the generations the tradition had been carefully manipulated into a traveling pack of supplies. Socially the children…

The hunters thundered onto the scene moments later, but without a mage to guide them or a Golden to sniff out Fria’s illusions, they eventually gave the pair up as lost. While the lack of a mage had kept them safe, Fria could feel the child’s disappointment resonating through the bindings. Even if the stockpile…

It was no use trying to hide in the open, the Binder’s light-eating form carved a misty silhouette against the snows, so they ran. The riders gained ground with every heartbeat, and Binder Fria spent magic recklessly to pull it’s form into solidity and break a path for the tiring child who followed. “The trees!”…