Snowfall by FoxySquid

Snowfall by Foxysquid
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Bato parted his lips, letting the air fill his mouth. The wind tasted like snow; he always recognized that taste, sharp and wild. He smiled, raising his face to the sky. The clouds told the same story as the wind, but he'd known that story since he'd left his tent in the morning. Since even before, maybe. Sometimes he thought he could feel it in his blood, the coming snow.

It was going to be a big storm, although it was still hours away. He probably had time to row out in his canoe and catch a good few fish before it struck, but today he didn't want to fish. Today he had no heart for fishing. His smile faded. No, he wanted to be alone today, to be alone and do nothing. He wouldn't be missed.

He lowered his gaze and continued to walk away from the village. He wasn't going too far out, just far enough for the tents of the village to disappear from view. As he walked, the only sounds he heard were the low sigh of his breath and the crunch of his boots on the old snow. If he were to walk this way tomorrow, his footsteps would make no sound. All the snow would be soft and new. The world would be changed.

Bato had no particular destination in mind. When he spied a hill he used to sled down as a child, he laughed softly at the memory and headed towards it. It was as good a place to go as any. Once he was at the top, he seated himself, facing away from home. If he had turned around, he would have seen the village, and he didn't want to.

It had been a while since the last big snow. From where he sat, he could see for miles, it seemed: hills and valleys of old snow, packed down hard, a faded pale gray rather than stark white. He wondered: would this coming winter be a hard one?

It would be his first winter as a warrior, since he had so recently come of age. He wasn't completely used to his new role yet. Some days he felt he was too young for it. As he did today. A warrior should not be here, sitting on a sledding hill when there was work to be done. Yet he was here. He couldn't help it. Like a boy instead of a warrior, he sat on the snow and hugged his knees, pressing them back against his chest.

It must have been at least an hour later when he heard the first footsteps ascending the hill. He didn't turn around. As he could tell the snow was coming by the taste of the wind, he could tell who was walking towards him by the sound of the footsteps.

He did not move. A warrior knew how to be motionless when he wanted to, and he remained so until he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He leaned his head to one side, resting it against the arm attached to that hand. "Hakoda."

"What are you doing up here?" Hakoda's voice was soft and wry.

"I'm looking at the snow." The leather of Hakoda's anorak was soft against his cheek.

"You had to come way up here to see the snow?"

"It's a nice view," said Bato.

Hakoda took a seat beside him. Bato turned to look at his friend. Hakoda was watching him. The other boy--no, they were both men now--the other man had such pale blue eyes. Hakoda was trying to grow a beard. The hair on his chin was still rather sparse and scraggly, but Bato had made fun of it so many times already, he didn't feel the need to do so again. He reached out, however, and playfully ruffled the growth with his fingertips. Hakoda pulled his head back, grimacing. "Don't do that."

Bato could tell his friend didn't really mind. Nonetheless, he lowered his arm. He put his hand back where it had been before, holding his knees to his chest. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I could say the same of you, Bato."

Bato shrugged. Neither of them mentioned the storm yet. There was no need. They both knew it was coming. Bato lowered his head. His vision filled with the blue of his trousers. "I wanted to be alone, that's all," he said at last.

"I could leave you, if that's what you want."

Hakoda was too quick to say it, Bato thought. He wondered what his friend was thinking. "No, now that you're here, I want you to stay."

"Then I'll stay."

Bato looked up, turning towards Hakoda again. He wasn't used to seeing Hakoda wearing such a serious expression. Then again, he wasn't used to feeling so serious himself. To break the mood, he made himself smile. "I'd have thought you'd want to spend your free time with that pretty girl of yours."

Too late, he realized the words had been the wrong ones. Hakoda didn't smile in return. "Bato," he said softly. "Of course I want to spend time with you."

"Yes, I know. I didn't mean it like that. I only meant she'll wonder where you are." It wasn't actually what he had meant, and he was sure Hakoda knew that.

Hakoda replied as if he took Bato at his word. "We're not married yet. Even if we were, she doesn't need to know where I am at every moment of the day."

"No, I suppose she doesn't." He didn't want to be angry with his friend. They were never angry with each other--it was always other people who were angry at the both of them. Well, whenever they'd pulled a prank or done something too dangerous for the elders' tastes. "I'm glad you're here."

Hakoda leaned in closer. Bato knew what Hakoda was going to do, but he didn't pull away. He let Hakoda's lips settle on his own. Hakoda's tongue pressed against his lips, and he parted them. The taste of the other man's mouth was familiar to him. Like the taste of snow on the wind, only this was much hotter. Hakoda's mitten brushed his cheek, warmed by the hand within it. Inside his own mittens, Bato felt his hands tremble as he returned the kiss.

He wanted this to last, to close his eyes and allow Hakoda's mouth to move against his for hours. Instead, he turned his head, breaking the kiss. He set his gaze on the snow. "We can't do this," he said.

"I know," said Hakoda, and Bato could hear the frown in his voice without looking at him.

Bato knew he had to say something. To make everything all right. To make Hakoda laugh. That was what he was supposed to do. Why didn't he know what to say? "Do you think it'll be a hard winter?" he asked. A meaningless question. A question old men asked each other. The winter was always hard.

"I think it might be," said Hakoda after a moment's reflection. "The snow's coming early this year."

"Sometimes the winters that start sooner end sooner," Bato countered.

Hakoda's laugh was brief and sharp. "Optimist."

"You can't fool me," said Bato. "So are you."

Hakoda laughed again. "Yes. Maybe so."

"We should go back before the snow comes." The wind had quickened and the storm was advancing. It wouldn't be long now, Bato guessed.

"We should."

Neither of them moved. They sat on the hilltop together in silence. They had sledded on that same hill as boys, not so long ago. It was a good place. Bato's memories of it were happy ones. This was one more memory for him to keep, and it was happy in its way, too. Bato told himself firmly that that was true.

It was not until the first flakes began to fall, white from the gray sky, that they stirred themselves and got to their feet. Their boots crunched on the snow as they walked back to the village, side by side. Bato could still taste Hakoda's kiss. He wanted to keep that taste in his mouth, but he parted his lips. He let the wind in. The taste of the snow wiped away everything else.