They were on a whirlwind of fruition and ruin; he could feel it in his bones, notching through his veins, twisting over chords of sinewy muscle and strong, rancorous prowess, a child of the snow and sun. Show me, she’d said, and he saw the glimmer, the spark, the kindling finally take flame there, beneath the shadow of the Sentinels’ gaze and the roll of the chilling wind. Just what impaled and enlightened her there he couldn’t say, couldn’t define (that was her role in life, to find, to discover, to enhance and stitch back together the seams of her designs and desires), but he’d intend to coax to fruition all the same. Her demands curled and coiled, nearly distorted the fabric of quiet desolation, and his grin grew wider, feral, and devilishly handsome in the natural order of chaos and fiendish antics. “Of course!” His voice prevailed over the horizon in boisterous dedication, in livelihood and exuberance, bounding, leaping, tearing through melted rime and fertile valleys, chasing after the horizon like the princes in fairy tales and silly myths (because he was more the monster, more the fiend in regal clothing, more Lucifer garbed in armor and smiles), running after the void in all their hearts.
 
He liked to see her smile instead of frown (or his least favorite – the nonchalant look, a veneer of disinterest piled upon years of nothingness and isolation). He liked to hear her laugh instead of pout, deny, or reject his (brief, fragile) notions of wisdom and sagacity. He liked to witness layers of ash and disappointment fall away; so that somehow, someway, he felt like he was helping instead of failing, faltering, and stumbling again.
 
Never enough, he whispered into his heart, his mind, his skull – and all that mumbled back was Orsino’s scoff.
 
He renewed his feral prowess in the midst of ivory lacquer and polished fortitude, bowing to the conviction of the mountains as he brought one of theirs home – whether she’d stay or go would be left to her own volitions and cravings. The boy ran down towards the furnished, furtive tent, racing ahead, all limbs and power, muscle, a savage on the rise, a dominion of potential finessed into too many pretenses to control; past her fleeting movements, a noble figure cut from brutal cloths. He tilted his head towards the bountiful lake with its pristine waters and quiet ambience, shouting behind him so she could hear the silly secrets of their world, their earth, their kingdom, their empire, and know what it meant to belong to something. “This is our lake! It never freezes!” He gave it a silly tap with his hoof to appease or amuse her, but the dagger remained on the surface, causing him to laugh then shy away, all glorious motion and silliness. The boisterous depth of his eyes gleamed towards a cave nearby, full of secrets and magic, enchantments and wisdom likely too much for even his mercenary, grasping, clawing mind to bear. “Over there is the Haruspex’s cave. I’ve never been inside, but that’s where our diviner summons the God of Spark and Time.” His voice grew hallowed, as if the mirror inside and all its containments should’ve been honored, revered, while all he longed, yearned, to do was create havoc and mischief. But he ceased there, giving her moments to reflect and conspire, to grow curious and wonder, before proceeding wherever they were due to roam. 

Erebos

i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want