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The world was suspended in an eerie silence, as if it had held its breath with the coming of winter, and did not dare breathe again until spring relieved it of the ice and snow. Murdock looked down at the frozen world, stark moonlight assaulting him from the clear sky above. His wings rode the thermals with ease, feathers spread to catch the rising columns of warmth and climb higher. Below, the world had seemed to come to a sudden stop, and everything around him had frozen in place. Held in an unfaltering grip by the ice, the very earth seemed to sleep.
He had taken off from the southern beaches of his homeland into the radiance of a mid-winter sun, but like a candle flame, the sun had been snuffed out by gentle winds and the moon now loomed high overhead. The sub-zero atmosphere had laced his feathers with a net of glistening frost, and suddenly his wings felt too heavy to keep him airborne. Changing course, he banked right and circled a small clearing in the forest, the canopy parting just enough for him to descend into. He touched down lightly, teal hooves sinking softly into the gentle arch of a snow drift. Elegantly stepping from the knee-deep drift, he folded frosted wings to his sides.
The thicket of darkness he had found himself within was broken only by a weak shaft of grey light, and the shadows wrapped about him in a gentle embrace. The monolithic, white-faced moon watched him from above, as he carried on into the heart of the forest. Like a machine, he pushed on through the knee-deep snow. The gears of his mind turned as he gazed about, wondering at this labyrinth in which he had found himself. The trees seemed to cage him in, standing tall and dark and silent above him. It was an echo of his past life that kept coming back to haunt him. A gust of wind caressed his wings, rustling the trees and stirring the snow in the hushed soliloquy of winter.
Ducking his head beneath the finger-like branches that grabbed at his hide, Murdock made his way towards the gentle whispering of water. At the base of a gently sloping hill lay a stream, and he slid down the icy bank towards its frosted edge. The mirror-glass surface of the ice that had all but cased in the frigid liquid sent back a hollow gleam of light to a satiny sky, and he pushed his lips into the water with grim satisfaction.
He noted the tall drifts of snow that closed in about him; snow that insulated the shadows of the winter night and hindered the swiftness of travel. Lifting his head from the icy drink, he stepped across the shallows, and continued into the depths of the threshold. Each break in the canopy exposed iridescent markings to the painted kiss of the moonlight, his markings shining like constellations upon his night-sky pelt. Before him, the bush stood trembling on the verge of colour as the thick hoar-frost threatened to swallow up what wilted leaves remained upon the withered stalks, and mask the lively colours behind a gentle façade of white.
The resonant voice of winter accompanied him as he hummed a pensive tune, the song of the wind orchestrating a simple song that kept the shadows of fear at bay. Quickening his pace, he made his way into a thinned clearing of trees. Gnarled branches reached down to grab at his mane, and as one struck him across the chest, he halted in his tracks. Turning to face the silent oak morbidly, he gritted his teeth against the light sting of pain that blossomed from the shallow wound upon his hide. Opening his mouth malignantly, he prepared to reprimand the audacious tree, when his better judgment preceded him.
Shutting his mouth, he opted to be silent and discreet, and simply carried on through the snow. Gazing upwards, he clutched his wings to his sides as he watched the dark mass of intertwining branches pass overhead. He seemed to be alone in the maze of trees, and the only sound that met his ears was the muffled sound of his footfalls. Pausing at the height of a smooth hill, he examined the snowy world about him. The fogging of his breath obscured the sleeping forest surrounding him, the faint glow of his markings reflected upon the faceted snowflakes that spiraled through the air around him.
"speak"
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