Яikyn

There is wind:  sheer and sharp in note, it is cold, biting, it rends across the earth and sends the portions of this ethereal hell pit which are not frozen fast skittering in arcs and circles away from its invisible touch.  The crunches of ice beneath my hooves as I walk across the seemingly always sunlit flats are occasional; small pockets of icy water are my reward for finding the few patches that aren’t frozen down to the sand, and they send goose bumps up my legs and into my chest and belly that are unpleasant – and somehow looked forward to, in a morbid fascination sort of way, like when a sore has appeared on your tongue or inner lip, so you keep running it against your teeth, over and over, to feel the sting of life reminding you of its presence.
 
It does not help that this place makes me think dark things, a downward spiral through a small collection of what feels like an ocean of problems and failures, by myself, by those around me, by the world itself.  Still, I entered this strange place in memory of the Crocodile, in thought of my conquest against the beast with my brother, Erebos, strong alongside me, my sister in flames, a phoenix showering hell sparks from above.  I came here in a good mood, thinking of good things.
 
But the rainbow light against the living portions of this strange, stolen expanse inspires heaviness in my step, a not so subtle violence laced within each press of my golden hooves into the soft white sand, onto the treacherous, chilly glass of the ice that randomly ripples across the surface, invisible with the strange reflections cast by the high Sun.  I’m kicking ice, sand, and salt water about most unceremoniously, caring not for the fact that my lower legs are soaked and aching with cold, that I should maybe pick up the pace to something more than an irritated, savage trudge, but the afternoon’s light in full does not touch the chill that reaches through my coat, ushered by the wind, or the chill which resonates from the inward, out… and damn it, I’ll trudge if I please!  My legs can just get over being cold.
 
A friend and their horrid companion will not find me this time – I know enough of life to not expect the same thing twice within such a short span (and most definitely not in the same place) – and though I don’t expect to be interrupted, distracted with memories of being very small, and other things, not so pleasant…
 
It is the way that Helovia works.  Someone always finds you on days like these, days when you’d rather rip someone’s breath from their lungs by force than use any of your own air on words.  Days when you wish to walk alone, the cold wind at your back, to think about the big things, like whether or not I’ll be able to do what it takes to make it to the Starplane, about whether or not I can save Aithniel, about my father, and if he is proud.
 
About my mother, and whether she ever really loved me, and if not me, anything, if she could leave so easily.

@Nymeria
[ 0/3 ~
Set in the Halycon Flats at noon, with a clear overhead sky, but there are sweeping, chilly winds.  It's cold enough that patches of the flats have frozen, while other patches are not frozen; even when not fighting, its difficult to discern what is slick from what is not!  Rikyn is slowly meandering across the Flats, pretty much just kicking rocks.  Thank you for the spar! :D ]

in every heart a hole