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10-30-2012, 12:31 AM
Snow dances in eddies about the two gathered horses, seemingly playful in its white swirls, or perhaps taunting to Tillas' wishes of Birdsong.
Overhead the skies have gathered thick clouds pregnant with a storm. They are rich with snow and dark with foreboding, yet the weather seems calm. The moment does not last.
With the next breath the gentle swath of snow has stilled. There is an eerie calm to this beautiful landscape, one eagerly wrecked by a thunderous clap in the sky and a peal of lightning arcing down to snap at the ground near their feet. As if in response to the cracked sky the clouds split and pour down their children of snow and ice. The wind is anxious to feast and hurries about to gather all the snowflakes, snarling with itself and into the obtrusive bodies of the horses standing in the way of their meal.
The storm has begun.
