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The lithe scion spent hours chiseling and sculpting finery from fire: eyes ablaze, touch igniting, dipping down into the river embankment and seizing fine ferns and long cattails. It was becoming easier to kindle a little blaze, just one simple, infidel caress, one stroke of raw, hard anger (thoughts of friends leaving, musings of hateful contortions and corruptions, moments of possible loss and strife), and the stalk would burst into a wild, singular inferno. He’d marvel at it for a few seconds, gaze intrigued over its dying facets, its curling, withering fronds, its inaudible outcry, it’s intangible death. Before it met its final demise and spring more fire upon the earth, scorch and ruin, he’d toss it into the unfreezing lake, watch it sink into the chilling, cool depths, gone but not forgotten. The little beast would summon the invocations and rituals over and over again until he felt drained and tired, the pull of listlessness sink over his marrow and bones, or instead, meet the expiring vegetation at the water’s edge, dance across the serene gallows and thank it for all the blessings and potency it had showed him, hum a final hymn as it descended into the chasm’s bed. The sensation of power immersed him into more curious folds, pondering if he had more, if he could summon every ounce of puissance in the world and show the realms, the empires, the sovereigns, true mastery and supremacy, galvanizing dreams and exposing ambitions through the crisscross measures of a juvenile on the brink of discovery and maturity; basking in the wake of determination and aspirations. The princeling would have spent another afternoon here, engulfed in flames and sunsets, had a familiar pair of scents not drifted around his nares, swindling him from further explorations: like a tiny explosion, he gathered every ounce of his core, of his movement, of his motion, and sprung into actions, chasing the owners across rime fields and tundra meadows.
Tethered and tied into a range of excitement, his eyes peered over the expanse, narrowed to catch the sight of a tiny deer and its companion, a spotted boy likely locked in study. He had so many things he wanted to tell Adelric, goodness, how long had it been since they last met, that his limbs were a fury and his maneuvering beyond chaotic, foiling and toiling in rapid, rebellious, bold extremes – he launched over roots, over patches of forlorn, isolated snow, past open caverns and intriguing mirrors, longing to reach his beloved friend. The yearning built in his heart, rapid and swift, because there were things to share and express, to show and compose! He’d seen giant turkeys gobbling in turkeys, fed them a multitude of meals for a tiny egg that was not to be his, he’d discovered he could waltz across water, he’d met other winged creatures and learned how they flew and why he’d never leave the ground, he’d set a companion aflame and then realized how much domination lived and breathed inside him, if he could only coax it out. In a breathless bellow, he yelled across the scenery, exposing his appearance and expeditious ascension towards the hot springs. “Adelric! Tobias!” He followed the echo, strong and enduring, beginning his long-awaited diatribe in haste and without forethought towards the speckled child’s actions. “It’s been a while! I have so many things-“ He paused, examining the careful scrutiny the other colt paid to the earth, furrowing his brow in matching speculation and curiosity, until the sharp, pointy, odd thing floated in mid-air and he couldn’t hold in his excited gasp, bursting from him in ruffian inquiries. “What is that?!”
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