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THE LOVE OF FIRE AND ICE
by Elope
Tor’s steps were silent as she moved through the snow-laden landscape. It seemed as if the Time God had whisked her away, to a time so very far away, in Li’Nal where she had exchanged warm stories to fend off the cold, to push away the eternal chill always ready to settle into your bones and sink into your skin. There were no stories of jolly red horses, or reindeer-horses pulling sleighs of food, no, instead it was stories of family hearth and love.
The story she first recalled was the story of the mare-of-the-ice, a mare with a mane of snow and a coat of ice, eyes of the gray ocean always surging against the rock shores. They said her name was Icinkika, but most had called her Ice. She was known now for her cold heart, a heart locked away in a frozen ribcage, so cold and loveless that the Great Dove had turned her away from the life of death.
And here it goes.
Ice was walking, in her mortal form, she who when you approached her, you would slow and freeze out of cold sliding over you, encasing you, covering you, pouring water into your lungs. With each breath she took, you could hear the rattle of her ice-lungs, and each exhale frost curled into the frigid air. Where her stone feet walked, ice sprung up and the earth froze beneath her. Snowflakes fell in glistening white flakes from her mane and trailed from her trail. Eyes, eyes of emotionless marble, watched as she brought winter to the lands, made Li’Nal a cold kiss on the lips.
Something was following her, and the ice-borne mare knew it, and was in fact curious as to who would dare approach the mare who was despised and even hated. “What is it?” She said, her voice a hiss, a sly thing that curled under your skin and cooled your emotions. You paused, fearful, immediately and intimately knowing this mare is so willing to come and kill you with her frozen heart. But while she is snow, you are fire, and just as water craves to meet fire, you lust after her with your mane of red flame and tail of golden sparks.
So you hope, lower your head and let your red eyes drift over her frosted form, over her ice eyes, and you wonder who she once was, instead of winter. She’s a beauty, clearly, with a faint hint towards Spanish lineage, while you are all lean muscle and Warmblood build with a long lion’s tail and wings night black coated in flickering embers ready to burst into life at any moment.
The stallion approached the mare. Tension crackled in the air between them, but there was no need for worry. Entranced she was, entranced by the stallion who dared to approach her, dared to try and seduce her. Smoke flickers in the tundra air.
It takes not days, not weeks, but years for the passion to return, and the stallion warms her heart, except in the coldest days of winter where he must leave, leave to warm other parts of the world. Her pain is so great her heart chills again, and she walks and breathes cold again, but when he returns, the two are united into a display of passion unlike any seen, that emerges in glowing colors exploding across the sky.
Everyone, in these last days of winter where the heart thaws, rejoices, for the grass springs up green and we thank the stallion for his gift to us, for his love, and in turn, we return our joy to our loved ones and family dear.
by Elope
Tor’s steps were silent as she moved through the snow-laden landscape. It seemed as if the Time God had whisked her away, to a time so very far away, in Li’Nal where she had exchanged warm stories to fend off the cold, to push away the eternal chill always ready to settle into your bones and sink into your skin. There were no stories of jolly red horses, or reindeer-horses pulling sleighs of food, no, instead it was stories of family hearth and love.
The story she first recalled was the story of the mare-of-the-ice, a mare with a mane of snow and a coat of ice, eyes of the gray ocean always surging against the rock shores. They said her name was Icinkika, but most had called her Ice. She was known now for her cold heart, a heart locked away in a frozen ribcage, so cold and loveless that the Great Dove had turned her away from the life of death.
And here it goes.
Ice was walking, in her mortal form, she who when you approached her, you would slow and freeze out of cold sliding over you, encasing you, covering you, pouring water into your lungs. With each breath she took, you could hear the rattle of her ice-lungs, and each exhale frost curled into the frigid air. Where her stone feet walked, ice sprung up and the earth froze beneath her. Snowflakes fell in glistening white flakes from her mane and trailed from her trail. Eyes, eyes of emotionless marble, watched as she brought winter to the lands, made Li’Nal a cold kiss on the lips.
Something was following her, and the ice-borne mare knew it, and was in fact curious as to who would dare approach the mare who was despised and even hated. “What is it?” She said, her voice a hiss, a sly thing that curled under your skin and cooled your emotions. You paused, fearful, immediately and intimately knowing this mare is so willing to come and kill you with her frozen heart. But while she is snow, you are fire, and just as water craves to meet fire, you lust after her with your mane of red flame and tail of golden sparks.
So you hope, lower your head and let your red eyes drift over her frosted form, over her ice eyes, and you wonder who she once was, instead of winter. She’s a beauty, clearly, with a faint hint towards Spanish lineage, while you are all lean muscle and Warmblood build with a long lion’s tail and wings night black coated in flickering embers ready to burst into life at any moment.
The stallion approached the mare. Tension crackled in the air between them, but there was no need for worry. Entranced she was, entranced by the stallion who dared to approach her, dared to try and seduce her. Smoke flickers in the tundra air.
It takes not days, not weeks, but years for the passion to return, and the stallion warms her heart, except in the coldest days of winter where he must leave, leave to warm other parts of the world. Her pain is so great her heart chills again, and she walks and breathes cold again, but when he returns, the two are united into a display of passion unlike any seen, that emerges in glowing colors exploding across the sky.
Everyone, in these last days of winter where the heart thaws, rejoices, for the grass springs up green and we thank the stallion for his gift to us, for his love, and in turn, we return our joy to our loved ones and family dear.
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
