Shaking. Trembling. It is hard for me to hold myself steady. The fracture in my soul seems to have catalysed a further split of my being. I feel ripped apart, torn and thrown about, tossed to and fro, like a rattle banging against the sides of its shell. The cold penetrates my skin, any moisture that was on the surface, any sweat, saliva or tears, freezes on my pelt, I become dotted with icy speckles. Even my nostrils gather a bunch of icicles, my eyelashes become stained white, and it takes some effort to blink them open once more. I tuck my wings close to my side, seeking warmth amongst their downy folds, but they feel hard and brittle against me, and I only shiver more. I feel the layers of fat, muscle and skin be penetrated by this chill, I feel myself go numb, and I allow myself to revel in that numbness - for while I am numb, I do not feel, I do not care, I am not afraid, and I can pretend that I am no longer broken.

Until the fissure becomes bigger. The harks atop my poll capture the other's, Rasta's, utterance of my name, and I jolt in surprise to feel her muzzle against my forelock. In my numbness I neglected to observe her nearness, and it has been so long since another has truly touched me that I am jolted, as if from another dimension. The pain of your absence returns. The hole opens up again, or at least I become aware of it all over again. Sobs rattle me, unwillingly I choke them back, blinking again against the onslaught of frozen tears that painfully attempt to carve their way down the hard contours of my façade. I lean away from her, my ears pinned down against the frosted skin of my nape, my dreadlocked forelock falling stiffly across my brow. I was lost and broken, alone in the world and unsure of how I would survive. I had made the choice to live on without you - I could have fallen upon my spear the way my grandmother had, for she had lost her mate, her lover, but I was too selfish, too weak to give in to the urge to simply end it all. Some might argue that it was a stubborn strength that carried me on, but I knew better. It was weakness, hopelessness, a wretched sense of unworthiness that was as alluring as it was despised.

I understand, she says, but how can she possibly? What does she know of my pain, my torture, my loss? I know the hole.. her words echo around me, and it takes a few moments of lost time for them to completely register. My breath holds during this time, and it feels like an eternity before I remember to breathe again. "No." I breathe the word, I live the word. A denial, denying your existence, denying her and whatever it was she called a companion. Denying my will to live to this moment. "NO!" I shout now, my entire body twisting so that my crown is pointed at her, as if the hot breath and expanding lungs weren't enough to get the message across. I refused to accept this, to acknowledge it, to even process it in my fractured mind properly. No no no no no NO! I snorted, harshly, in her direction, my ears still slicked down, my nose scrunching in anger and repulsion, my lips peeling back to snarl at a foe who cannot even see the faces I pull in her direction.

I turn away from her, sweeping my tail over the dried, frozen grasses, shuffling my stiff wings against my frosted body. My legs, stiff from the cold I do not even realise is generated by me (but so used to odd weather patterns by now that I barely bat a frozen eyelid at it), put distance between us, several strides. The thought of flight enters my mind once more, and my wings spread wide - but there is no wind, and my magic feels numb to me, even though it is anything but. My wings raise, high, towering above my crown, as I stretch and try to restore warmth and blood flow to my extremities. Several more moments pass, and though the annoyance, the sheer denial within me still lingers, it seems to have thawed. I speak, softly, dryly, tonelessly, once more. "What was his name?"

It begins to snow.


[[ @[Rasta] <3 I'm sure Rasta wanted to experience snow in july, right?? ]]