Little Goat Mountain Wayfarer

Summoned, the willowy figure tread carefully closer. Darklit gaze fell upon them with interest, tracing the traveler’s lissome form of pebble and sand, noting the wriggling black-banded tail, then taken at last by cherubic brown eyes.

It is said that if you meet a stranger when snow is falling— He gestured skyward, muzzle raised to meet the thin softfall of snow— a good fortune will befall one of them within the next seven sunrises. Which of them would receive the boon, he wondered.

I am Winter’s Wake.