yseulte*

It was a curious thing, to have time repeat itself.

Many years ago, a time before even her father's time, when Liridon was not yet ravished by scorching flames and suffocating darkness, a queen with eyes like violets and hair of fire spoke to a god. He was a violent god, as was his nature, but he was not unkind, however much he pretended to be. The Fire Lord granted her request, for he loved mortal games and admired this firebird's fearless spirit.

In fact, he rather thought it a pity if she were to die.

Hell and Back Again, the journey became known as. Up the spine of Mt. Zjarri and down its throat of darkness and into the belly of flame and things unknown to mortal eyes.

"Because none would ever return, you see," Zjarri would say, as they would climb their rather less formidable stargazing hill. "But not your grand-mother, for the Fire Lord favored her above all else."

Many years later, past both the queen and her monster-son's time, a god fashioned from the very bones of the earth who was both gentle and patient, granted the grand-daughter of the Firebird her only wish.

And so it was, that Yseulte braced herself against the cold that stole the very breath from her lungs and the wind that slashed her body with bits of ice and snow fashioned sharp and cruel like broken shards of the glass substance she was soon to learn how to craft. She strained her eyes for signs of movement, pushing herself farther into the barren reaches of the land to lay eyes on the snow leopards. Though the snow crust was frozen, and not entirely difficult to traverse across, she couldn't help but miss childhood winter days when she was not alone, and her father would melt the snowdrifts with his fire-breath that were taller than her. As Yseulte always did, she pushed those warmer memories away, and embraced the onslaught of cold and snow.

As if the land were a tomb to the living and green, he wild winter grounds were full of forgotten silence—a hollow, somber silence that seemed to sing just for her, and no one else.

apprentice craftsmen of the edge,

yseulte*

She fell motionless at the command, the exotic leopard accent foreign and strange to her ears but the intent in the hostile tone was clear. A snow leopard. He was truly a regal creature, both he and his fair lady, with bright eyes subtle variations of blue. Each stride was powerful and full of easy grace. He and his more slender companion moved smooth and languid as flowing water, and seemed just as translucent due to their marvelously camouflaged fur. She stared at them in wonder and admiration, understanding Zjarri's fascination with this feral and exotic cat. They possessed the three qualities he cherished above all else.

Beauty, power, and grace.

They eyed her critically in a somewhat skeptical manner, and voiced their doubts aloud. Her unwavering blue eyes, so like the snow leopards', watched the male pace back and forth restlessly. As a vague afterthought, she supposed she should feel uneasy in their feral company, but she wasn't. There was nothing that could frighten her anymore. Not after Zjarri. And then the white pair turned their backs on her, and Yseulte immediately sensed their proud, cold nature.

Perhaps they were not so very different after all.

"I am she." The quiet conviction and ferocity in her voice was unmistakable. "I am sent under the command of the Lord of the Earth himself. I have come to help you recover what you have lost."

If it was not too late.

"Please. What would you have me do?"

apprentice craftsmen of the edge,