She sneaks out at the first ray of morning, when the sky still smells of dusk in the west. North, across sand and through threshold of desecrated earth; north, beyond the edge of the woods and into the meadows, through heath and snow and the trappings of winter. On her right the sun makes its ascent, bursting into glorious light only to be swallowed by the density of clouds; colors paint the rim of the heavens, frail and beautiful yet quick to withdraw. She thinks she can taste them before they disband, that the colors crackle with power and heat before dissipating, withdrawing, melting away to snowflakes and ice.

They make their own heat. Muscles and tendon work to generate warmth, sweat building beneath hair of thick winter hides; boy and his sister run when they can, walking in bursts before regaining their pace. Not hurried, but not languid, they know they cannot delay. They have duty, responsibility, and Hector... well, he has wings. Reaching their destination will be easy for her partner, regardless the presence of ice on the ground. Already they're late, fallen behind the upward-sloping sun; their bodies too small, their lungs too frail, the cold air burns them and spurs the pair on.

At the edge of the meadow they pause, breathing hard, and the boy climbs onto his sister's broad back. Can't run, he announces. Too cold. Don't like. As though to prove his point he wraps tails around the minuscule body, pressing large ears against the ebony skull. His heat is escaping in billows and droves; he loathes the cold, her desert brother, yet refuses to let her patrol on her own, to leave her side for more than a moment after the cruelties they have faced alone. It is minutes before he falls asleep, soothed by the rocking of her lengthy stride.

The Sun has not reached his zenith in the sky; or so she supposes, for the light is unclear, a hazy steel through clouded skies. Copper child and her diminutive brother cross into the Grove and find it iced, a wonderland coated in a sheet of crystal. Frail grass snaps beneath broad hooves, frozen earth shattering in the force of her strides. She stills, blinking away the ice from her lashes, trying to see through the fog of her breath. The world is white, and beautiful and clean; she shivers against it and peers into the dim light, wondering where Hector could be, and who else would be fool enough to venture into this frigid world.

"talk talk"


@[Hector]