Winter quakes

I went walking through a field of my own choosing and stumbled into a muddy mire.
In the hole with me I found resting three children of a green complexion. They rose from the slop like the phantoms of my youth who terrorised me as a bairn, while I lay sleeping. They spoke in turn. One was named Petandral, his sister was Leanlo, and the third, though faceless, still somehow spoke to me and called itself Gerrent.
Electrified with fear, I scrambled to leave the hole but my hands were like forks when spoons were required. The green ones touched my collar and shoulder and bade me settle. A panic reduces with touch, but the coldness of their form caused ice to burn the skin through my coat.
"It is winter, and we quake," spoke Petandral. "We are sorry," offered his sister. "When the earth is hard and frosted we have little life to give. In the summer we will soar, burning orange across the sky, dropping nectar and rich berries for you. But for now we just survive; breathe in sullen ditches and fallow meadows. Offer us your blood and we will take it."
The voice of Gerrent filtered through my head. "Leanlo looks at your beating heart with relish." Petandral answered my confusion with bold words: "Wait out the winter with us. Awake unto spring and strong new life. The waters will not freeze for long."
I reached out to his chest to push him away. His body, when brushed, crumbled slightly. A howl of death cold seared my hand. New found wildness entered me and I dived at the ditch-wall. A root, uncovered, gave me mooring from which to climb.
As I was raised from the deep rut, chill blades clawed my back but another force, some power, helped me continue to travel upward. As distant vision became possible above the trench edge a freezing fog billowed down from the foothills. A mass murder of crows sat atop each furrowed brow of the field and on every branch of every skeletal tree surrounding.
I ran back toward the River Hoole and, as I staggered on, the great crowd of black wings ascended into a devilish cloud. I turned from their mocking caws and dived over the small stone marker wall and on up the hill into the thick veil of fog.
I wandered for many hours through the gloom. Many times I heard the voice of Leanlo calling to me through the fog, begging me to return to her, but I was never again touched by her grim hand.
The lights of the village eventually cut the sodden air with sanctuary. Now I lie, beneath extra blankets, scared of sleep.
O come spring. Come summer, soon.