Snö welcomed the warmth of the small touch, what deeper heat it seemed to convey. Love. It was an idea foreign to her, distant from her changing mind. Had it once existed inside her pale chest, locked away inside her thudding heart? Once. Now the warmth seemed to be withering, even more than ever, as she grew among the cold unicorns in the north, with the bitter wind on her skin as the days became shorter, the nights stretched out. Orangemoon. Autumn, the season of which the Edge had been invaded towards the end of. It was so close now to a full year. How long would it be before their home was theirs again? Soon, Snö prayed, soon, but there was no guarantee for when their numbers would grow stronger. Even when they did, they had been defeated once- what if they were ended again? They would need to do it differently. It would be hard to multiply, when the Edge enlargened as well. Would they steal, take, and whisk away horses of the other herd? Would they try to convert the unicorns within? Perhaps that would be the way to do it. Or maybe something else entirely.
What had gotten her into this mood, had caused her sorrow? She was cynical, cold, cruel, conniving, bitter, vengeful and jealous, the personality she had always embraced and welcomed, wearing it as a shield of the world of woes around her. If she was so glacial nothing could hurt her, wasn't that a good trait?
Snö shivered slightly under the weight of her thoughts, wanting only to be rid of them, to return to her cold front, forget about these emotions that weighed her down. Mauja called her his child. Father. Yes, the formal word that could fit him so well. It allowed for space between them, an odd coolness, that did not call for the excessive warmth of 'dad' and 'daughter'. Father could be used sarcastically and warmly. It fit the bill. The varnish flicked her ears forward, emotions cooling to slow-moving lava in her heart, and listening, taking in every word. He missed it too. So she was not alone, not now anyways. Even just his words conjured up the images of home she so missed; of salt and wind and the singing birds, of the others that had been left behind when they escaped.
The only sentence she perhaps did not understand was his words about ruling by love over fear, and the warmth in his eyes as he said it. What he said did have a point to her, at least. Would she learn to love? That could be said in a moment's notice. Maybe if she followed her father's footsteps, rather than her mother's. But even Psyche had been loved, if only be a fool named Valentine.
"Father," she said, disengaging herself from his gentle hug, taking a step away. Her crystal eyes were bright, clear, even longing. "Do you honestly think we'll return one day? Don't lie to me- say what you think." Ever so slightly her voice took a desperate, hard note. Did she really want to know? "If we do go back, will you be King again?" Snö gave him a minute, and marched stubbornly on, flailing for the right words. "Are you proud of me?"
When had she turned into a child?
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
