Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
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By the time Alvar felt well enough to get back to work again, weeks had gone by and the crisp chill of autumn had turned into frost. Snow gleamed on the distant mountaintops and the trees stood bare and forlorn.
One sunny morning, when he stood before the garden, a sad sight greeted him. His flowers had all dried up, and dark red poison ivy leapt all over the hedges. All magic that had once graced the garden had vanished, leaving behind nothing but desolation in its wake.
Hands in the pockets of her breeches, Aunt Elena came up and stood beside him on the porch.
"Don't look so glum, my lad. We can fix this," she said, and when she thumped his back it was enough to knock the air from his lungs.
Aunt Elena looked younger than her forty two years, with a rather striking resemblance to Alvar, although her time as a sailor had graced her with a bronzed complexion and a strong, stout built. She did not seem to have a mind to return to the sea anytime soon, though. All through the past few harrowing weeks, she had remained by Alvar's side when a terrible fever kept him bedridden for days on end.
It was about time he showed her some proper hospitality.
"I'll fix us some breakfast," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "I'm making pancakes."
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Restoring what had lain abandoned for such a long time was no easy task. Gran's garden used to be forever in bloom, even in midwinter. But not even magic could withstand neglect. Alvar hoped the magic that kept the place alive would return once again, if he worked hard enough and made up for the last few months.
