singillatim | Мороз и солнце; день чудесный!

The dreams come so vivid during the auroras, but they’re never the same. She wakes up in brief fear, clutching the blankets around her tightly, searching for a warm body in the bed. Sometimes he’s there, solid and soft and stable, and she settles back down rather easily. Somedays, like the morning she wakes from a dream about ravens and airplanes, he’s not around, but she can hear the sound of his footsteps in the house. It’s equally as soothing, but she has little incentive to stay in bed.

She’s been trying to find a way to move out, to go to her own place, but on mornings like this, when the wind is blowing and winter is knocking and she can still feel the warmth of his place beside her - well, she’s less in a hurry.

She pulls the blankets around her shoulders instead of getting dressed and slides her feet into the first pair of shoes she can find on the floor.

“Ben?” she calls out softly, padding into the kitchen.

Svetlana makes house calls on a daily basis. Sometimes, she ventures into Lakeside and will stay a few days there, but she doesn’t actually worry about where she’s living or staying. She will find friends, or she will find people, or she will insert herself into someone else’s life if she can help it.

When there’s enough sunlight to work, Sveta will make herself comfortable in the Community Hall to go over the notes that Hilbert had left her. She’s still working on translating them from Russian to English, though she sometimes does have to hand the English over to someone else to proofread.

But Hilbert’s findings after the glimmerfog are still fascinating, even now, and she doesn’t mind sharing what information she has.

Maybe it’s a silly little thing. But the snow is falling again and Sveta is feeling - somewhat nostalgic for home. For the slick city streets and the oily puddles and the yelling and screaming of her neighbors at night.

It starts out after a rather productive snowfall. The next day, the sun is out and Sveta gets to work. By the afternoon, when she takes a break, there are no less than ten snowmen, women, and children all out in front of the Community Hall.

They all have names, they have stories, and they have families.

If they can’t have television, if she can’t have new novels to read, then she’s going to make her own entertainment.

The snowpeople hadn't been there when Illarion left the Community Hall at dawn. They make an odd, and oddly cheerful, little crowd in the fading afternoon light, as he's coming home from hunting. Novelty, here in Milton, is enough to pique his curiosity.

Though there's things to be done before he can satisfy that curiosity. He strides through the group with barely a sideways glance, disappearing into the building for long enough to stow his foraging pouch and rifle.

When he emerges again, it's with something clutched protectively in his right hand. He skulks over to the nearest snowman, peering into its face with a raptorial intensity. "Where's your maker," he demands of it, after a minute of staring.

He'd woken early to a cold dawn from dreams of beached whales and a frozen shore, and been unable to get back to sleep. Rolling to the side, he'd kissed Sveta's warm shoulder and tugged the blankets up a little more snugly around her, then slipped quietly out of bed. As the coffee boiled, he'd worked quietly on sketching out and writing down the dream in the pages of the journal he'd picked up, before leaving the book open on the table to start breakfast.

By the time Sveta comes in, he's standing at the stove, whisking together ingredients for pancakes — or as close to them as he can get without eggs. Diefenbaker, sitting alertly nearby, barely glances at her as he watches Ben at work, hopeful of some batter or a pancake or two of his own.

Ben looks around, smiling when he sees her. "Good morning," he says, and dollops some batter on the sizzling griddle. "Pancakes?"

She spends a moment simply admiring him there in the kitchen, looking handsome and light, like nothing can touch him.

She's at a loss for words, so she simply nods with a smile, coming around the table to give Dief a scratch by his ears, speaking gentle Russian to him, promising him a bite of her own pancakes.

"Did you dream last night?" she wonders, glancing at the notebook quickly before glancing away.

The snowman doesn't answer, but Svetlana, currently on her knees arranging dilapidated shoes at the bottom of the snowman's wife, does.

"Ah! That is Pyotr, and he will not tell you anything," she warns him. "You see, he is too busy deciding if he would like to stay with his pretty wife, Agata, or with his sister in law, Miya." She brushes snow from her hands, beaming up at him.

Dief licks absently at her fingertips. His tail brushes over the floor as it wags, his gaze fixed on Ben there at the stove.

Ben nods, watching the cooking batter and waiting for bubbles to rise to the surface. "Yes. It was strange... very realistic. I almost felt as though I were there."

He slips the edge of a spatula under one of the pancakes, checking the bottom, then looks over his shoulder to her. "Did you?"

"I did. It was - strange. I woke up thinking I could hear the Moscow traffic out of the window. I could smell coffee and - and my neighbor Yulia had burned the dumplings."

She joins Ben at the little stove and slides an arm around him, inviting him into her little cozy blanket/robe.

"But my dream had been about ravens, isn't that odd?"

"The good news is I haven't burned any dumplings," he tells her. "Or pancakes, for that matter. But there is coffee if you'd like some."

Of course, before she can go to pour any coffee, he shifts close to her, slipping his free arm around her shoulders to hold her close, then ducks his head to press a kiss into her bright hair. "Is it?"

"Coffee? Or ravens?" she wonders, not moving from his side. The kiss sealed it; she is happy right here by his die. "The ravens are - a bad omen, I think. I can't help but worry about what it might mean. And I am no seer. I have no prophetic visions and I'm still learning how to read fate and destiny. But - maybe it's simply because so much has happened in such a short time."

A very industrious little dog has taken up work beside her, carefully crafting a perfectly round snowball with her nose and then pushing it near the woman’s right foot, at which point she starts yipping, tail wagging.

Randvi knows these streets (and that bark) well enough that she isn't far behind.

“Ulfrùn! Gods, I apologize, she -” And it's at this point that she notices the snowy crowd around the square. “What’s all this?”

The day after her party, Chloe makes her way to the community hall balancing a precarious tower of mismatched tupperware containers.

“Hey, Svetlana, I was hoping I'd find you here. Saved you some food.”

She peers around the pile.

“What are you up to?”

Sveta gives the dog a little pet as she continues on, grinning at the sound of Randvi's voice. "Ah! These are the newest members of the town of Milton!" she laughs. "They are - here for our entertainment."

She looks up to her and sighs. "Chloe, what do you have?" She stands up and leaves the notebook on the floor so she can help her with the containers.

“Oh my, you've been busy!” Randvi exclaims with a laugh. “Is this a first snow tradition or a special gift for Milton alone?”

"Well, I thought we needed a way to have fun," she teases. "And since the people here don't offer up their personal lives so easily for laughs, then I will create it on my own."

“Leftover food from the harvest party.” There aren't many people Chloe would let scold her like a misbehaving puppy, but Svetlana is on the list. “You’d better like the cake, because I had to lie to Ruby to save you a piece.”

“Ohh, you yearn for gossip.” It's strangely relatable. “Too bad you cannot visit us in Ravensthorpe then! Tell me about these people.”

"I don't want your immoral cake," she laughs. "If you had to lie to get it, then why bother?"

She is already looking through the containers, letting out a low whistle.

"Well, this is Pyotr," she says, pointing to a snowman with a very unfortunate hat. "His wife is Miya and she is very pretty, see?" She has some dried twigs for hair. "But her sister, Agata, has eyes for Pyotr and I think they might be in love."

While he lives at the community hall, Levi usually spends most of the day away from it. So there's more than enough time for Sveta to build multiple snowmen before he returns. Its not what he expected.

He pauses and peers at them for a moment before looking to their builder. "Um. Having fun?"

"Ah!" she cries out, surprised by his appearance. She had been very into sculpting a nice sweater for one of the snowwomen.

"I am! Yes! Hello."

"O-oh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. You, um, you're making snow people?"

"It could be," he agrees, flipping a few of the pancakes. "Or maybe this place has unlocked some latent ability for you."

He finds it difficult to distinguish between truly prophetic dreams and the manipulations of both Enola and the Darkwalker here... but maybe there isn't that much of a difference after all, considering the likely outcomes. "In some cultures, ravens are messengers or guides. Maybe they'll serve in the same way for you."

Мороз и солнце; день чудесный!

Пора, красавица, проснись: - Fraser

Открой сомкнуты негой взоры - Open/House Calls

Звездою севера явись! - Open/Misc

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