Letters Upon Snow, a fire emblem fanfic

Letters upon Snow

By Becki

Fire Emblem 2003

A rather.. long note from the Writer

Uwaa!! I miss Fire Emblem .. I got so caught up in ToS that I slowly lost the uber part of my obsession with FE ;; (and it doesn't help the fact that I lost my FE game too ..) So I decided to write another of my endless supply of one-shots for it I had semi-inspiration for this, usually I only write fics if I have the inspiration for it. For this one, I had to hunt down the inspiration, but I eventually found it Do you want to know where?

Two friends and I were talking about Fire Emblem once and we somehow managed to get to the subject of Erk. One of my friends started ridiculing his name (i.e. "Was his mother choking when she was naming him or something?") and I felt somewhat sorry for him (yes, I do feel sorry for video game characters --;) The whole part of Erk living in an orphanage is completely out there, and when I was looking at a few Support conversations, I remembered after I started writing this that Lucius and Serra were both raised in orphanages, so it seems like I completely filched the idea .. I do that often, it really stinks...

Whoohoo! This is my tenth FE fanfic Actually, my eighth one (the one that was supposed to be before Lady of Violets) was never posted or finished. It was a fiction based on Jaffar, but I felt there were already way too many Jaffar/Nino fanfictions so I kinda left it on hiatus and left it there.. ; This also replaced Empty as the longest one-shot I've ever written. It's somewhat a coincidence that they were both angst too, hm? I actually had tons of fun writing this.. I was in another one of my descriptive 'write huge paragraphs about one subject' type of mood. Sorry about that .. Please review!

So I'll quit my chatter and start this fic

Becki

Unforgotten Birthday

Breathing on the window, he watched as the silky, warm, vaporous cloud crystallized on the misting glass. The fog from his breath clung stubbornly on the window, fading slightly at the edges. With his finger, the boy raised his hand and drew letters.

E...

Tracing his finger as he formed the first bar, he made sure it was straight and perpendicular to the plane of window. Then he slowly added the three bars, so carefully that they were evenly spaced apart.

R...

Curling the top, he let the tail of this letter swerve down where it met the end of the white cloud.

K...

A fairly simple letter; but that's what he loved about letters, they were always so elegant and simple. He withdrew his hand from the hard surface and rubbed his cold fingertip on the raggedy clothing of his tunic. With deep, purple eyes he looked through the window towards the flurry, feather-like lace that floated silently down from the dark sky. The city was lit up with lamps by each corner, casting light at the end of each street.

He crossed his arms on top of the windowsill and rested his chin on them. Blankly he watched the people in their long cloaks and hurried pace scuttle by in their busy schedules. The candle next to him flickered as the stream of wax slowly constructed a solid white path down the side. Leaning back on the floor, he looked at the candle. Shivering with the cold, he tilted his head down, his astonishingly dark violet locks falling into his face.

The room where he sat was empty of people other than him. Old beds laid out in rows had been made, their dusty, old sheets thin and the mattresses stiff. Spider webs gathered in the corner where wall met ceiling, where they began to frost into cobwebs. Cracks splintered up the stained walls, the floors were cold against his bare feet. But the room was far from silent. The wind howled against the window, and the building occasionally creaked as it lurched in the zephyr.

But when one lived in an orphanage, they could not expect luxury.

There was a distant pounding of foot against wood. He listened carefully but made no sudden reactions. Eventually the pounding on the stairs gradually grew in volume, until the door to the room slammed open and a young girl burst in, heaving for breath with her hand on the red scarf that was tied at her neck. Her hair was a pale moss green, tied loosely with a white ribbon. She wore a dark forest green jacket over her gray tunic that was far too big for her, the sleeves came down to long and her fingers just peeked at the cuffs.

"Lyra!" The boy exclaimed, standing up. "You shouldn't be running!"

"Oh, Erk, I almost fogot!" She said, her cheeks pink with the cold and something else. She coughed and waved him away.

"Forgot about what?" He asked, puzzled. But she wasn't exactly listening. Quickly she shook her head and stepped back.

"Close your eyes, Erk." Then he was the one that was surprised, and took a step back.

"Wha--?"

"Just do it. And hold out your hands." She said very seriously. He raised his eyebrows but did as she told. When she was certain that his eyes were closed, she took from her sleeve a small parcel wrapped crudely in olive-colored paper, tied with a black string. She placed it in the nest of his hands, and instinctively his fingers tightened around it.

"Okay!" Lyra said cheerfully. "You can open them now." He did so and looked at the object in his hands. He glanced back at her and she brushed her hand through her bangs. "Happy twelfth birthday, Erk! Go on and open it." She ordered with a teasing expression. Erk returned a subtle grin.

"I didn't think anybody remembered." He replied thankfully. They both sat down as he began working on loosing the string around the parcel and pulling aside the olive paper in his lap. The paper had a nice earthy smell; like an evergreen tree, or perhaps a handful of freshly picked mint. When he took away the last layer of paper, there was a book that remained.

"Lyra!" He said in surprise, giving her a shocked expression.

"You're the only one in this entire orphanage that can read, Erk. I thought it would be fitting." She said, her covered hands in her lap. "I found it on the streets close to the Count's mansion. Of course I don't know what it's about, but I hoped you would like it all the same."

Erk opened the cover and in bold letters the first page read 'Athos the Archsage'. He painted a strange expression on his face that Lyra mistook for distaste.

"Is it.. no good..?" She asked, creasing her brow in worry. She bit her lip as she waited for his answer. He tore his gaze away from the book and smiled at her.

"No, it's the best thing I have ever received. Thank you, Lyra." He closed the cover, and half rewrapped it to preserve it. Lyra let out a breath and placed her palms on the dull floor.

"Great! Erk, come on, let's go outside!"

"Huh?" He blinked while setting the parcel next to the windowsill and looked at her with a frown. "We shouldn't. You may catch a cold."

"Humph." She huffed at him, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Now you're sounding like Mistress Elle. I'm not that frail you know."

Erk grew quiet.

Yes, you are. He thought, but dared not say it out loud. She may have seemed tough, but she was sickly and had bad lungs since she was born. Many said that she would die at a young age, despite the fact that she was always so lively and happy. Which was a shame, Mistress Elle, the headmistress of the orphanage had once said to her assistant. She was such an active, hard-working girl.

Erk shook his head and changed the subject.

"Speaking of the Mistress, does she know that you're up here..?" He asked. Lyra looked around the room and shrugged. According to the protocol of the orphanage, no girls were allowed in the boys dormitory, and vice versa.

"Nobody'll care. Come on, let's go outside! It's snowing again." She urged once more and got up, turning towards the door. Then before he could protest or even answer, she bolted back down the stairs calling back behind her.

"Hurry up and get dressed! I'll meet you outside by the tree!"

The snow was thick, and each step compressed it hard against the blackened grass beneath. Each silky breath fluttered away in thin vapors, each blink of an eye caught white lace in the lashes. It was cold, but not uncomfortably so. It was a coldness that was crisp and refreshing, dousing each person with a wave penetrating their thick layers of clothes.

He wore a dark red scarf woven with thick yarn tightly around his neck. His dark purple hair sprawled over the cloth, curving at his chin and itching his eyes. His hands were uncovered and at his sides, his jacket worn and patched with mismatched cloth.

He paused a moment to study the atmosphere. About ten paces away from the entrance of the orphanage, he guided his dark gaze across the scene, to take it all in and remember. Erk was very intelligent and learned to see things from the whole. He had the memory of a book. Once it was written, it could never be erased.

While he was watching the snow fall and the people pass by, a group of boys ranging in age sauntered around the corner of the orphanage. He had not noticed them until his ears had picked up the laughter that they rang out. Taken by mere surprise, he turned around and stepped back.

The smallest of them, a boy that was a few inches shorter than Erk sniggered and said with lazy stupor in his voice.

"Look, it's Erk!" He laughed as he sniffed, his nose a crimson color. Wiping it with the rough wool of the mitten, he continued to laugh as another took his lead.

"Erk!" The tallest of them muffled at the strange-sounding name. "Erk!" And a chorus followed, repeating the name over and over again.

Erk frowned and stepped back again, nearly tripping on the slippery snow but catching himself before his knees gave way.

"Go away, Tared!" He said back fiercely, but it came out softer than he intended it to. Tared sniggered and the chorus of echoing voices followed his lead. Erk felt anger revive in him as he balled his fists, but his face remained passive. He was not stupid. Any of his actions could be 'accidentally' mistaken as a threat for combat. Such a choice would only lead to a black eye, for he was not as physically strong as Tared or the other boys.

"Or what?" Someone tempted. Erk slowly stood up to his maximum height and brandished his famed, quick tongue.

"Or I might be tempted to hit you. After all, stupidity may as well be a disease. Who knows if it's contagious?" The insult took longer to click in, and Erk couldn't help but taunt him further. "Oh, my apologies. I had forgotten that I can use words with only two syllables when I need to speak to you." Erk almost laughed at the irony that syllable itself had more than two. Tared's face turned from stupefied confusion to bitter rage.

"You--.." But he never finished his sentence because he had bent over to grab a huge wad of snow in his hands. Erk knew it was coming and side-stepped to avoid the blow. Unfortunately, Tared swung around with his other arm and managed to strike him in the face. Erk fell back and felt the vibration of the crack at the bridge of his nose. Stumbling back he fell into the cold snow with blood flecking white.

With a wrenching roar Tared lunged forward to ram the ball of snow in his large fist into Erk's face. The boy felt a sharp frozen mass strike his forehead and he yelled, rolling to the side to get away. Spitting out the flakes of snow to the ground, he tasted the blood from his nose on his lips. Opening an eye, his vision was framed with snowflakes and he instantly went to locating his assailant.

"Stop! Tared you jerk!" A well aimed snowball flew as if from nowhere and made the great bully's head its target. Erk slowly kneeled, completely ignoring the stream of salty crimson that continued to flood, and looked in surprise to see Lyra standing a few distances away with her arms in the after-throwing pose.

Tared got up ferociously after shaking the snow off from his hair. A few strands still stuck stubbornly and glittered in the pale lamplight. When he saw who it was, he scowled and took a giant step forward, face-to-face with the girl.

Lyra lowered her arms at her sides and had her brow in a light furrow, watching him defiantly.

"You idiot. Though it seems right that he needs a girl to protect him." Tared said, but there was some sort of hesitance in his voice. Erk and Tared's group were both silent. Lyra stared back coolly, her scarf fluttering in the wind.

"That's strange. I thought it didn't seem right that Erk has to even utter a breath to the stupidest person in Reglay." She huffed back at him. She stepped to the side and helped her friend up, her gaze never leaving Tared's face. Even as she stared at the older boy, she spoke to Erk in a commanding way. "C'mon Erk. Let's go."

Turning their backs to the group, Erk and Lyra started to leave. After a few seconds of them walking away, Tared suddenly bellowed.

"You don't belong here!" He raised a fist, directing his shout towards the violet-haired boy. "You never did! Don't you ever wonder why your parents abandoned you!?"

His call was left unanswered, but stung Erk painfully. Lyra said nothing.

Eventually they were out of view from the group of boys, turning at the corner of the orphanage with a large evergreen tree ahead. The tree's most bottom layer of branches was almost five feet up from the ground, the bark on its trunk clean from any sap. The branches were wide and very long in diameter, the olive colored needles jutting out against the long, strong smelling pinecones. The two sat down underneath the tree with no words, and stared across the white scene.

Snow continued to fall, no less light or heavy as it had been. It was almost completely dark, but they could over look the city and the lights that lit up the houses. The Castle Reglay stood out against the city's edge, the pinnacle of its towers hidden by the shroud of snow.

Lyra undid the red scarf that was wound around her neck. Folding it in her hands, she touched Erk's shoulder with it.

"You should wipe off the blood." She ordered, but not in an arduous way. Erk was about to refuse, but the blood was starting to crystallize with the cold. The cloth was not wool, he realized as he wiped off the blood. It was a cloth softer than spring grass and it was very warm.

"This.." He began, but trailed off, unsure of what to say. Lyra suddenly looked to him.

"Could you.. teach me how to write?" She asked suddenly, as if nothing had never happened. Erk blinked and lowered the scarf, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

"Hm?"

"You're always drawing letters. I want to learn." She said looking down, twisting her hands into her light green hair. "Would you teach me?" Erk smeared off the last stream of blood and sat up on his feet. Extending a finger, he raised it above the snow and started to write on the cold surface.

She moved closer to see closer. Erk paused.

"How would you like to spell your name?" He asked. They were always referred by orally, and he realized the fact that most of the orphans had never written their name.

"Eh? Spell? Like magic?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"No.. I mean.. with letters." He tried to explain. Then he continued to write.

Lera Lira Lyra

"What does it mean?" Lyra asked, looking at the three versions of her name in the snow.

"It's your name." He pulled back his finger as it was starting to become numb. Lyra frowned and studied them.

"Is it really that long?" She asked, puzzled.

"No, those are just different ways of spelling it. You see, the alphabet can be rearranged into words with different letters and still come out with the same sound." He said.

"Oh.. so they all say 'Lyra' ?"

"Yes. You can choose which spelling you like best." He nodded, satisfied at the fact that she managed to understand and comprehend so easily. She looked at the three names and did not take long in choosing.

"I like that one." She pointed to the last one. "Which letter is that?"

"'Y'." He answered.

"Why? Why what?" She leaned back, both confused and surprised. Erk laughed and shook his head.

"No, that's the name of the letter. 'Y'." Lyra had excitement glowing in her eyes.

"Write your name, Erk." She pressed, touching his shoulder. He grinned and wrote out the three simple letters.

Erk.

When he finished the final line on the 'k', he looked at Lyra. She smiled and crouched down, and stretched out her index finger. She began to carve out the letters in the white, copying the figures Erk had written.

Lyra.

Huddled in the warm, yet creaky corner of the boy's sleeping area, Erk hid himself within a mound of thin gray-brown blankets. Picking up the book given to him as a present, he flipped it open to the first page. As soon as he pulled the cover, a scent instantly lifted. The scent of rows of parchment with ink, and that earthy smell that Lyra always seemed to leave behind. Excitement caused his fingers to tremble as he flipped to the first page with the hunger to learn.

The script was in a lighter cursive, easily read. It was obviously handwritten, but there was not a single mistake on the page. He started to read.

Athos was a respected master of Anima magics. Anima, while consisting of the elements of Nature, was one of the easiest of the Magic trinity to use, and it is arguably said that Athos was one of the best sages in the history of Elibe. This volume regards his use of the spells of Nature and the discoveries he had made. Although he is best known as one of the Eight Generals during the Scouring, it will not be discussed in this book.

Erk paused, and loosened the book slightly from his grip. The Eight generals.. for the time he skipped the lengthy introduction and thumbed to the center of the book, picking a random page and reading.

During his journey around Elibe, Athos studied diligently the structure of Anima. He was one of very intellectual wit and was rarely seen without a thick tome or some manner of scrolls. Although he did study the makings of Staves and Light magic as well, Anima fascinated him the most. The reasoning for his interest in this basic magic is unknown, but because of his brilliantness, both advanced and easier tomes were produced. It is even said that Athos himself wrote the greater version of the Fire spell, now published and copied under the name of 'Elfire'.

The boy wrinkled his brow and halted. The vocabulary was precise but had a sophistical sense, but he didn't understand what it meant. But he was delighted at his confusion, for this meant a challenge.

"Yes." He said out loud and closed it. There was so much in the world he wanted to know. Magic seemed promising to him, it was complex yet simple at the same time. Like letters.

"Yes." He said again and looked at the window. His name that he had fashioned the letters on the glass was still there, clinging still.

Morning was livelier than usual. The latest blanket of snowfall gleamed like ivory in the sunlight, blinding all who looked upon it. When Erk descended the stairs with Athos' biography tucked under his arm, he sat at the breakfast table in the small kitchen without a word. Even with the clatter of the girls cooking and setting up, he paid no attention to it. Even when Tared sat the end of the table opposite of him and glared, he took no notice.

Soon the chaos mounted in the scenery, but it was nothing unusual. The girls were yelling at the stove, the cracked plates clattered and utensils were dropped to the ground. Water ran and the scent of something burning rose. Typical morning routine.

Eventually breakfast was served, a watery soup with potatoes with dry, hard crackers and small cups of cold milk. Each orphan also had a small plate of a half cooked egg. But eggs were expensive and were considered a treat, it was no wonder the kitchen seemed more excited than usual.

Erk had the book set out leaning against the edge of the table. He was reading silently and even as things were milling about around him, when people and other things were flying past his head, all he did in response was flip another page.

When the Mistress entered the kitchen, things eventually quieted down. The girls took their places, faces flecked with potatoes or eggs. Mistress Elle looked about the table of eager, hungry faces and frowned. Although he was reading, Erk was listening as well.

"We're missing one..." She observed the empty seat next to Erk, the few strands of hair that had escaped her high bun rested over her eyes.

"Oh.." A black-haired girl said, dressed in a white apron and a pale yellow dress. "Lyra said she didn't feel well this morn." An older girl scowled and looped a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Probably just didn't want to do cooking duty today." She commented accusingly. Erk looked up from his reading, and noticed for the first time that Lyra was absent. There was a little murmur within the children, and Erk heard one of the younger boys ask innocently, 'Can I have her egg?' Mistress Elle shook her head absent-mindedly and sat down at the head of the table.

"I'll bring her breakfast up later. Boys, you are still all on cleaning duty. I want these floors swept clean and the dishes scrubbed once breakfast ends. Now let us offer our graces to Elimine before we partake this meal."

He didn't know how serious it was until the disease flamed.

Lyra was confined to her quarters. She ate little and refused much of the help she was offered. However, she cried often with pain being the only reason. Then she would fall into deep slumbers, wake up with torments in her nightmares and cry more. This was quite unusual and out of character for her.

Whenever Erk requested to see her, he was always denied. But the Mistress always reassured him that it was a simple cold, that it would pass. She was just having a more difficult time because of her weak immunity system. So all he could do was read. He was about halfway through the book. The more he read, the more he realized there was to know. Because of the book he thought of his only friend often and felt so helpless to do anything. A full week had passed since her 'cold' had been announced.

He had not made amends with Tared either, in fact, he hardly saw the older boy anymore. Erk rarely played outside, and was just as confined to his room as Lyra was to hers.

Finally the sickness was so prolonged that Mistress Elle called a doctor. He came by every morning to check on the poor girl, but no improvements were made. Erk's doubts increased every time he saw the doctor step out of the door of the orphanage, despite all the coaxing and speeches Elle made.

And finally the night came when the feeling of comfort met its zenith. He was again reading, but there was a feeling of some kind of dread within him. It was an empty feeling that left him cold. Slowly he closed the book and hid it under the stiff mattress of his bed. Pulling the blanket closer around him, his feet stepped out onto the cold wooden floor, which groaned as his weight pressed down. The other boys were quiet and stirred in their sleep on hard, cold beds. Stopping still, he pressed another foot down, satisfied that this time, there was no creak.

He paused and looked out the window. It seemed strange how hard the snow was falling despite its soft, placid distinctiveness. It was practically a blizzard, where mother nature played the forces of wind and snow against each other to hide the stars.

He crept towards the door and opened it to a crack, almost forgetting that the hinges winced whenever it was disturbed. Slowly and carefully he opened it wider and wider, until it was far enough for him to slip through. Not bothering the risk of closing it again, he hopped down the stairs in silent steps.

Another rule of the orphanage was against the forbidden lurking out of the quarters after lights out. Even to go to the privy, it was strictly enforced. Yet Erk felt his anxiety not from the fear of punishment, but the fear of something entirely different. When his feet met the cold tile of the kitchen, he nearly jumped back in surprise, suppressing a startled yelp. Catching himself, he gingerly stepped back onto the frigid floor, prepared for its icy touch this time.

Lyra took the Headmistress' assistant's room as her sick area of quarantine. It was fortunate that way, because it would be much harder to creep up to the girl's dormitory. Not to mention that his punishment would double if he was caught. But he was still more than a little surprised to see the hall brightly lit at the entrance to her room, with hushed voices whispering to each other audible.

Erk crouched down in the shadows in the dark corner, trying to make out the voices and each word in the secret conversation.

"Are you sure, doctor?" A voice that he recognized as Mistress Elle's urged. Erk had the courage the step closer to listen better, and saw the shadows at the doorway. Elle's silhouette displayed her wringing her hands together at her apron, while the shadow of a man was a tall figure with a long cloak.

A quiet, low male's voice answered.

"She will be better in a few weeks. I am no cleric, but to be safe you may need to find one for her. There are plenty of stave-users in Reglay, you should have no problem." He replied, but there was still the grimness of formality in his voice.

"Oh, that's good news." Elle sighed in relief.

"Don't let her come outside and keep her warm." The doctor said in conclusion. They stepped out of the room and blew out the lamp before closing the door. Erk shrank back into his corner as the doctor and Mistress Elle passed by. And then he smiled, feeling confident once more.

"Everyone, I have some news."

It was the evening after Erk had dared to venture out during the night to hear of Lyra's condition. He hadn't expected anything unusual, but unfortunately, the unlikely does happen.

Everybody with an exception of Lyra (she had dinner at her own room) was assembled around the dinner table and many had started to stand up to start clean-up duty. Mistress Elle ordered them to sit down and looked around everybody at the table. Nobody said a word, and nobody knew what to expect. As for Erk, however, he felt that cold dread consuming his thoughts, but he was unable to understand why it was there.

"I have some news." The headmistress repeated blankly as she stood up, her face poised, yet calm. The silence was stretched and extremely brittle, as if it would snap at any moment and break apart.

"Lyra had passed away this morning." She said in an almost matter-of-factly tone. There was a stunned wave of glances. The news was so sudden and terrible that it took so long for their minds to register exactly what she had said. But she continued on. "We will remember her in our thoughts. You are dismissed." With cold abruption, she made to leave the kitchen, but Erk stood up violently, his wooden chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"That can't be!" He objected. It was less than twenty four hours ago that the doctor had confirmed Lyra's safety. The pain of realizing that one second made a difference of her living and breathing to cold and pale blinded him and tore at his temper. It was unreal, it couldn't be..

Elle somberly looked at him with sympathy in her eyes.

"I'm sorry Erk." She said quietly. "But--"

"How could you just say with a straight face 'she had passed away'? After weeks of telling us that it was 'a simple cold', or that she would 'get over it soon'?" He had not realized how loud his voice became. "Now you are just telling us what happened and simply walk away?!"
"What would you have me do, Erk..?" Elle asked hopelessly.

"That's-- You're..-- ugh!" He turned around and fled back to his room, knocking over his chair as it fell to the ground with a dead thump. The children stared at the headmistress with aghast faces, as she slowly sat down and covered her face, and wept.

He flew through the pages with his fingers, rapidly turning the pages so fast that they nearly ripped from the seams. He tried to read, but he couldn't. It gave him no solace. His vision was blurring and each letter grew wider and more distorted. The letters he could always find comfort in grew ugly at the tears of loss, and they were meaningless. With a defeated cry, dropped the book and fell to his feet, his back crushed by the corner. He turned his chin up so the top of his cranium met the wall, and exhaled.

The book had fallen so the cover and the backing met the ground and the pages furled out like a fan. He turned his head back down to see a little sand-colored parchment stuck between the pages at the center of the book.

...Strange.. it had never been there before.

With his lament still causing his hands to tremble, he reached down and picked up the paper. On the front there was light writing on it. Blinking back to make his eyesight clearer, he read it.

Happy Birthday, Erk!
It's been a great year! I remember the time when you first
arrived at our orphanage. I remember how lonely you were,
always writing your letters. So perhaps now you can actually
read something. Who knows, maybe this book'll be interesting
and inspire you to be someone great someday. I'll be looking
forward to the future. I won't ever forget, you can always
guarantee that I'll have something waiting by your next winter.
Please don't ever forget me.
Lyra

The snow was fading around him. Erk staggered to the tree, his senses more hazy before. It was so cold, but he could not shiver. It was freezing around him, but under the layers of wool and blanket, he was sweating with the perspiration of angst and it was so hot, and at the same time it was cold.

The tree was empty, and the snow around the base had blown away. The letters were gone. But he could no longer care. He knew not his destination. But he wanted to get away.

The young boy continued down the street, the snow biting like a swarm of insects on his face. His dark purple hair whipped at his face as the wind teased. His feet which were covered only by the thin boots dug deep into the feet of snow. Each step pulled him down farther and drained his energy. What was he running from? It was his grief that fueled his actions.

Finally it was all too much. Ice crusted at his boots and snow dangled against his feet inside. He thought that his face was scratched and bleeding because of the ferocity of the wind and snow, and his discomfort was just too overwhelming.

He fell to his knees into the banks of white. He took his shaking hand and started to write in the snow.

Erk. His fingers dipped in the snow and he wrote again.

Lyra. With a y.

He collapsed altogether after writing the last letter with his head over his arms. The wind resumed its howling, and the snow beneath him began to slowly melt and seep into his clothing. He could only see the darkness under the layers.

Will I die here...?

He closed his eyes, pressing watery drops on the snow. How much time passed, he never knew. Until concerned hands closed around his shoulders and pulled him up. A gentle voice spoke, but he couldn't make out the words. No more words were said after that. Erk felt a thick cloak placed around him as he was being carried. Eventually, everything went into darkness. But there was one last thing he remembered before passing out. A golden light poured onto his face, and a concerned, kind woman's voice cried out but was halted when Erk's gentle savior spoke.

"This is my student."

I stuck another one of my notes down here in case to halt unnecessary confusion that is sparked about this ..;

About Lyra's note, no, Lyra could not read or write, but I thought it'd be interesting if there had been a note written by her for Erk on his birthday. So the reasoning for that part is open to your own interpretation, because quite frankly, I don't have an explanation Oo; ... Oh man, the ending to this is so lame --;

Okay.. um... please review...