Earth tumbles and recoils beneath heavy weight pushed in it's thick hide. Alive with the endless pain of icicles driven into skin, the world prepares it's powerful threats of what it is to come.
Frostfall is returning, but not even the strongest may go without it's heed.
Dappled skin laced roughly over weak bones and muscles of power, dusk settles a bursting scene of vibrant colours across an early blanket. Further north, into the mountains and towards the northern sea, everything is deep within the white. Steam rises with wispy fingers outstretched from the mask that hides the face of a monster. A fresh scar is lain upon his neck. There's still blood strained into the gray skin about his neck and to the tips of a short black mane.
What is about his head is firmly placed now, refusing to come off without a good fight. Hours of a head slung about leaves the madman with a nasty headache and certain that if he is to be came across, there would be charges to face.
Thrown to the ground and laid to rest, he dazes. His breathing is ragged and rattles his ribs. Inside the mists and snow, there is a strong lack of life other than himself. He never makes for much of life, therefore the land is void of what life it should hold. Birds refuse to let their songs fill the air and make up for the emptiness. A dark shadow fades over the area as an orange moon settles to the sky lights.
He makes no complaint, only raises a masked face to gaze with almost neon green eyes, to inspect the sights that follow in the sweeping skirt of moonlight. A blink once, a blink twice, and a body shifts the blanket and unsettles it. More will fall soon, and his presence there will have no sign of happening anymore.
Once upon weary legs that shake, his least(but maybe favourite) person comes along for their usual visit. The white form comes as snowflakes fluttering in the wind, golden eyes upon the dark stallion. 'Lonely?' No. 'So our company is nice enough for your liking now?'
Time would say that every time Scinfaxi spoke to Shajake, there was always a question brought to the conversation that the green eyed man chose to ignore. They were typical to be ones that came from the stallion's personal views, and he lacked the need to fish about in his broken thoughts and bring an answer to the table.
I don't care.
That statement alone seemed to be the only sane thought that was ever thought, and let it be set into the history books that it even occurred.


"talk talk talk"