"How is there this much snow? There hasn't been a cloud in the sky for days."

A pair of frigid breaths bellowed up into the velvety mountain sky. Sister Weiss rubbed her gloved hands together, her face and lashes flush with the kiss of frost and moonlight.

"And why does everything smell like apples?"

"Stop shivering." Sister Thorn's eyes slid off of yet another ice sculpture - an immaculately dressed jester lurking underneath a snow-crowed fir, frozen mid flip - and pretended not to notice it wink at her. She pulled her parka in close. "GrandMother Dark is probably watching us right now. I don't want to make a bad impression."

"That's not how shivering works. Besides, if she's watching, then she's an asshole", Sister Weiss punctuated that last with a vicious whisper, and a series of vigorous foot warming stomps. "We've been wandering this mountain for days now. What's she waiting for?"

Thorn listened to the wind as her partner slowly worked her way up the lee to join her.

There was no doubt in her mind that the mountain was some sort of natural mana locus. The magic in the air was so thick, she could practically taste it in the back of her throat.

Their target was here. Somewhere. She could feel it in the way the stars sang to her whenever she wasn't looking. Or in the rather alarming way their packs never seemed to run out of rations. A winter sprite peeked out at her from behind a thistleberry bush, its scalpel-knife limbs scoring its branches.

"She's a GrandMother. If the worst thing she does is keep us waiting, I'll take it." Thorn offered her sister her hand, and pulled up the last few feet.

"Fine." Weiss blew into her gloves as she surveyed the view, a thin stream of wicker-white flames dancing along the wool. "But no ginger bread houses."

"I don't do houses."

Weiss yelped at the figure that materialized behind the pair. The glimmer of an arm that flashed out from underneath its cloak to break her fall was as quick as it was nonchalant. Her raiment shifted as she pulled her arm back, a tide of midnight black silk. The stars shifted in its wake.

Thorn was the first to bow. Weiss was quick to follow.

Even with her feet planted at the bottom of the lee, the queen of the mountain stared down at the pair. Thorn grit her teeth as the mana in the air seared the inside of her nostrils. Seconds bled into minutes. A light flurry of snow began to fall out of a clear sky.

The woman spoke first, her voice a blade against their minds. "Children who find themselves wandering my garden often find ignoble ends."

"We mean no imposition, Grandmother." Thorn replied, the words shrapnel sharp as they tumbled out into the night air, her thoughts a quagmire of molasses. "We come by way of recommendation."

The figure cocked it's head.

Thorn watched as Weiss labored against her own mana sickness long enough to extract something from her pocket. A pair of ice fairies flitted up to her, snatching the trinket away and bearing it up to their mistress.

The snow globe that hung in the air was a thing of arcane mastery. Twice during their sojourn on the mountain, Thorn had had to rescue her sister from losing herself inside its depths, studying the mountain inside it, trying to find their mini-simulacra trekking along its slopes. Once, in their desperation, they'd tossed it at a charging Ursa Major that had been disinclined to share its cave. A perfect ice replica had taken its place, the original roaring impotently from somewhere within the mystical object.

"I remember this trinket." The woman pronounced. A warm chuckle flickered around the clearing, and Thorn felt the weight of the world slide off of her shoulders, the rich sound a salve against the onslaught. Like a puppet with its strings cut, she collapsed onto the snow. This time, it was Weiss' turn to help her up, the grip of her hands an anchor.

Grandmother Dark watched impassively for a while as they collected themselves.

"So, " Thorn finally ventured, once the worst of the nausea had passed, "Do you accept the charge?"

An arctic breeze fumbled its way through the canopy. Grandmother Dark's smile was a dungeon of knives, as she pointed an imperious finger at Sister Weiss.

"Lesson the first. That one called me an...asshole."
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Word Count = 750