Winter Gift
A gust of wind ripped across the tundra, a warning of the long bitter winters to come. But though his eyes stung in the biting chill, Ivan kept them wide open to stare at the southern stranger accompanying his Mongol overlord.
The man – he was a man, wasn't he? – was beautiful. His hair was long, straight and dark as a prized horse's mane, and the locks that had come loose of his ponytail fluttered like black silk in the wind. There was a flush of red sitting high on his cheeks, white and smooth as porcelain. Dressed in rich mink furs threaded with gold and fastened with delicate jade buttons, it was more wealth than Ivan, a small Kievan principality, had ever seen adorning one single person.
The sight filled him with awe.
As Ivan stared, the stranger turned suddenly to face him. Ivan started.
"Is that… for me?" the man asked in halting Mongolian, his voice sighing like a summer breeze rippling across yellow-ripened wheat. Ivan ducked his head and nodded, clutching tight to his offering; a single sunflower stalk he had kept from the harvest.
There was a crunch of frost as the man knelt to this level. Their gaze met, and Ivan found himself staring deep into warm brown eyes flecked with gold. His breath caught in his throat.
"Thank you," the stranger said as he accepted the simple but heartfelt gift.
Ivan did not feel so cold that day.