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12-20-2016, 05:17 AM
Art by Neverr ♥
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
snälla sluta lyssna, glöm allt jag sade
jag mår bra
It always happened. It swept across the land like a tingle, a pulse from a slumbering heart suddenly wakened and spreading through numbed veins. The season of it varied, but the call did not—softer than a sigh, quieter than a whisper, it was little but a tug on your very soul, an itch to wander down to the Thistle Meadow. He recognized it for what it was; he had been through this before, hadn't he..? The last time, Glacia had been pregnant, in tears, and then—his heart hardened, ice coating it like frost on a cold winter morning.
He couldn't blame the tree or the turtle, but the unease remained in him like a twisting snake. It coiled in his gut and spat its poison into his veins, made his heart hammer in his chest until it took all he had not to fidget in anxiety—somehow, he walked with grace, still much too thin beneath his lackluster winter coat. A long, matte forelock obscured his tired eyes.
Many had already gathered, many he wanted to greet, but couldn't bring himself to speak to. All he did was smile faintly to them as he ghosted along the outskirts of the group, finding his way through the crowd at a point and stepping close to the tree. A dead blackbird laid before it like sacrilege, a challenge, and with his ears pinned he scanned the crowd but how could he know who had placed it there?
Many offered items they loved and cherished, but Mauja did not. There was no way to hang a staff from a tree, and he wasn't too keen on parting with d'Artagnan's bags even for a moment.
Instead, he turned to magic. The ice rolled through his veins like a slow, steady darkness, a chill spreading as his mind tugged at it. Tiny, tiny crystals formed by his feet, little spires of ice, and his owls arranged them as he breathed on them, melting their edges so they could freeze together again. Lost in thought he worked until the tiny spikes had been fashioned into a snowflake.
Worn out by it, he took a half-step back, allowing the owls to grab the icy creation and wedge it among the branches of the tree.
[ Mauja makes a snow flake out of several small spikes of ice using his magic and breath. ]
