The forests of North Haven have always been famous for their icy temperaments. Herik was shivering under his blanket, not confident enough of his own writing skills to try and draw an Entropy paper for himself.
A few paces away the aborigine was busy arguing with a small flame he created. Herik could not understand what they were talking about, but he could sense enough of the faint differences in temperature around the both of them to get the gist of their discussion. They were talking about him.

Intrigued, he silently watched as the two spoke, catching glimpses of intentions and songs from both. But he could not understand them beyond the facts that the fire was doubtful of something (something about him), and the aborigine insistent.
Old Pethre had taught him how to understand fire, but their lessons never went beyond the basics. Surely, had he survived, he would have taught him more.
Herik held his blanket tightly around him. Had he made the right choice?

A single star twinkled. He closed his eyes.