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11-25-2014, 02:08 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
We are not alone. Her voice was as cold as winter's, a sharp whisper brushing the back of his mind—a familiar caress, that light, knife-like touch. She came and went in his mind with much the same silence as she haunted the skies, a ghost riding these northern winds; Mauja's head turned again, a fraction, the compass needle in his heart honing in on her position. Perhaps she was no more than a star, a smear of white against their distant brilliance, or perhaps she was nothing at all, a wisp of cloud, a bit of imagination. If not for the weight of her soul resting against his, he would not have been sure it was her he was seeing at all.
There were, after all, many things a-wing in the night.
A faint smile curves his dark lips.
If he wanted to keep lying to himself, he would say he had no idea why he was out there. He'd say he'd been wandering, straying, thinking, trying to figure something out. That he didn't know.
Bullshit.
The depth of his focus changed to watch his smoking breath drift upwards, and dissipate.
He knew very well why he was out here. He knew why he'd finally started to roam these northern lands, looking for a drop of blood in the snow—looking for a desolate, forsaken queen he had not met in years, but still remained perfectly etched into his memory.
Who was she now? Where was she? That which had made her her—that which had made his mind spin and heart ache—was it still there? If he found her, could he tell her what he should've said all those years ago, or would too much have changed?
He was out there, looking for her, passive and yet desperate, stalling, because, who knew how anything would end? And perhaps this torment was better than finality, and dreams better than truth, and once those words had flown from his mouth his excuses would have run out and the Edge would have their trial and.. maybe, just maybe, it would be the end of him, and frost would finally claim all of him.. as it had another of his old friends. Mauja blinked. That sudden chill around his eyes was definitely water leeching away his heat and freezing. He was trying not to mire himself in the past, but damnit, it wasn't easy when he felt like he was letting everyone down.
She—for it was definitely a she, his nose told him—was much closer now, approaching with something he couldn't quite place. On one hand, she seemed cautious, and on the other.. bold. Brazen. Unafraid. Familiar. Star-silver eyes traced her contour, drawn to her face, her horn—he'd seen it before. He'd seen her before, but he could place no name to her face, no meaningful interaction.. nothing. Just her horn.
This new ghost of his past paused at a distance, close enough that he could see her, but not close enough to kill. That small smile on his lips curled upwards on one side. Or? He'd never needed to come in close. The spires of ice around him were testament of that.
Not that he meant to kill her. He had no right to take the life of another.
“Hiding from the snow monsters, are we?” Hiding? In a loose circle of ice spears? Hiding, out in the open, under the stars? One 'brow inched upwards as a dry bark of a laugh drew itself out of him. "I am the snow monster," he retaliated, mind spinning unbidden back to days of being a wraith and a beast—what had happened to that? When had he gone from a wolf to a broken, wounded animal?
Another. A deeper mind-voice, as smooth as Irma's but less cold; amusement lurked beneath the spoken word. He saw glimpses of the world through their thoughts, of a young child working her way through the darkness and towards them.
“Wait...you're not like...sick and contagious are you?”
"No," was his short answer, a flash of worry needling through his soul. Were others? The girl was almost there, and his mind couldn't help but spin back, to another young girl in a winter landscape.. and her rotten, frostbitten heart beating through the bared ribs of her chest. "Are others?" And then they were three (or five, if you counted the owls circling overhead), and the young one says, "Excuse me. But have you seen a mare come by? She is glossy black, with a white blaze, and dark blue swirls on her front legs and horn. Her eyes are also of the same blue.", and his heart sinks.
But his face betrayed nothing—perhaps the silence between his breaths was a little heavier, a little more tired, or perhaps it was nothing at all. "I know of her," he began, his quiet voice almost at odds with the figure he cut in the starlight, surrounded by his weaponry, "but I have not seen her, not tonight." Not for a long time. Was this young creature, midnight black and spotted white, a child of his? The result of one chance encounter upon a beach? Was she a punishment, or blessing? What was even her mother's real name?
Slowly, his gaze returned to the first mare, the one with the crooked, familiar horn. "I know you. You belonged to the Aurora Basin once, did you not?"
[ @[Chernobyl] and @[Glacia] :) ]
There were, after all, many things a-wing in the night.
A faint smile curves his dark lips.
If he wanted to keep lying to himself, he would say he had no idea why he was out there. He'd say he'd been wandering, straying, thinking, trying to figure something out. That he didn't know.
Bullshit.
The depth of his focus changed to watch his smoking breath drift upwards, and dissipate.
He knew very well why he was out here. He knew why he'd finally started to roam these northern lands, looking for a drop of blood in the snow—looking for a desolate, forsaken queen he had not met in years, but still remained perfectly etched into his memory.
Who was she now? Where was she? That which had made her her—that which had made his mind spin and heart ache—was it still there? If he found her, could he tell her what he should've said all those years ago, or would too much have changed?
He was out there, looking for her, passive and yet desperate, stalling, because, who knew how anything would end? And perhaps this torment was better than finality, and dreams better than truth, and once those words had flown from his mouth his excuses would have run out and the Edge would have their trial and.. maybe, just maybe, it would be the end of him, and frost would finally claim all of him.. as it had another of his old friends. Mauja blinked. That sudden chill around his eyes was definitely water leeching away his heat and freezing. He was trying not to mire himself in the past, but damnit, it wasn't easy when he felt like he was letting everyone down.
She—for it was definitely a she, his nose told him—was much closer now, approaching with something he couldn't quite place. On one hand, she seemed cautious, and on the other.. bold. Brazen. Unafraid. Familiar. Star-silver eyes traced her contour, drawn to her face, her horn—he'd seen it before. He'd seen her before, but he could place no name to her face, no meaningful interaction.. nothing. Just her horn.
This new ghost of his past paused at a distance, close enough that he could see her, but not close enough to kill. That small smile on his lips curled upwards on one side. Or? He'd never needed to come in close. The spires of ice around him were testament of that.
Not that he meant to kill her. He had no right to take the life of another.
“Hiding from the snow monsters, are we?” Hiding? In a loose circle of ice spears? Hiding, out in the open, under the stars? One 'brow inched upwards as a dry bark of a laugh drew itself out of him. "I am the snow monster," he retaliated, mind spinning unbidden back to days of being a wraith and a beast—what had happened to that? When had he gone from a wolf to a broken, wounded animal?
Another. A deeper mind-voice, as smooth as Irma's but less cold; amusement lurked beneath the spoken word. He saw glimpses of the world through their thoughts, of a young child working her way through the darkness and towards them.
“Wait...you're not like...sick and contagious are you?”
"No," was his short answer, a flash of worry needling through his soul. Were others? The girl was almost there, and his mind couldn't help but spin back, to another young girl in a winter landscape.. and her rotten, frostbitten heart beating through the bared ribs of her chest. "Are others?" And then they were three (or five, if you counted the owls circling overhead), and the young one says, "Excuse me. But have you seen a mare come by? She is glossy black, with a white blaze, and dark blue swirls on her front legs and horn. Her eyes are also of the same blue.", and his heart sinks.
But his face betrayed nothing—perhaps the silence between his breaths was a little heavier, a little more tired, or perhaps it was nothing at all. "I know of her," he began, his quiet voice almost at odds with the figure he cut in the starlight, surrounded by his weaponry, "but I have not seen her, not tonight." Not for a long time. Was this young creature, midnight black and spotted white, a child of his? The result of one chance encounter upon a beach? Was she a punishment, or blessing? What was even her mother's real name?
Slowly, his gaze returned to the first mare, the one with the crooked, familiar horn. "I know you. You belonged to the Aurora Basin once, did you not?"
[ @[Chernobyl] and @[Glacia] :) ]
