His lips moved in silent chant, his breath mingling with the incense smoke curling into the cold morning air. Behind him, the children arrived, bundled tightly in wool and fur, their cheeks flushed with winter's kiss.
Each carried a white feather, plucked from the river cranes that nested near the frozen bay. They approached the shrine with solemn steps, placing the feathers gently at its base, their small hands trembling not from cold, but from reverence. Their parents had told them about the benevolent immortal who kept them safe hence they took it seriously.
The village elder lifted the silver orb lantern, its glass and iron frame catching the morning light. The flame inside had dimmed overnight, but with a fresh wick and a single drop of sacred oil, it flared to life once more casting a warm glow across the snow-laden ground.
