Predator, carnivore, an unsung rapier willing to be taken from its scabbard, drenched in the wicked, treacherous bouts of ruin watched, witnessed, and listened as fellow beasts joined into the corrupted sector of militia and might. No diplomats, no politicians, no emissaries, only callous, indifferent entities that protected, upheld, sheltered and secured their earth, their kingdom, from threats. Their world is not a palace to waltz, dance and make merry, it immersed the harsh, the brazen, the terrible and dangerous, pervaded the essence of inhabitants until they were solidified, archaic wardens, giving their blood for ice, for auroras, for power. Soldiers and guardians: they are a vicious stronghold, blending their contempt into a lacquered gate, locked, barred, unwilling to abide an inane request. To leave their leader with an unknown individual, one that smelled of the Edge? Briefly, he wondered if he should destroy her there, leave her body to be desecrated amongst the frozen splendor, let her bulk chill, freeze, into the perilous juncture of beauty and death. How fragile was her mind? How delicate were her sentiments? How easy would she be to break? It would be a fitting ending, vicious finale, to ignorance, folly and ineptitude, a sinking, fleeting measure of hope pealing into the clamor of her heart’s silence. But he didn’t, biding his time in the sullied aperture of snow and hostility, controlling, tightening the noose of patience and rigidity, applying the structure of his prowess into taut, coiled muscles, into vivid, pernicious enchantments that make the earth weep, wilt, and despair. His gaze refused to leave hers, the deep, looming, penetrating stare that severed and choked, that stifled and suffocated, puncturing and lacerating the foundations of bravery, of audacity, sifting through convictions until they’ve slashed away the senses of promises and benedictions. Her words carried no weight, bore no jurisdiction, and the grate of his vocals informed the draft of this, abrupt, damned, condemning the art, the finesse, of her request. “Trespassers have no right to demand.” Their Lady could arrive of her own accord, but they would not yield to the doomed perils of a vacuous intruder. They would not turn to the shadows, they would not flee from an interloper and allow her to sweep the world of her commands and requirements. They were might, they were brawn, and they were formidable. She could not have the conditions of her ineptitude, of her whims and fancies. He spoke for his soldiers, for his brethren, for the fine palisade they claimed, chiseled armaments of a promised siege. “We will not leave.”
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