They whisper of her, as they have whispered for six years of watchful peace. To some, she is a legend. To others, she is as real as the scars on their faces, the ruin of their lands, the screams that echo still as they try to sleep at night.
But now, though it is spring and the sun should be bright in the midday sky, dark clouds are drifting in. The wind grows chill and icicles form upon the leaves of trees. Children laugh as the snow settles on the ground, sprouting flowers covered in a blanket of crystalline white. They do not remember.
Horns sound from the mountains and the swift horses tear through the fresh-fallen snow. Above a great multitude in mail and fur flies the flag of the White Lion, billowing in the wind she has made.
They whisper no more.
The Winter Queen has returned.
Word Count: 149
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Ioniangraphics for providing the prompt photo!