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They came, like maggots from woodwork.
The God of the Sun watches with reproachful glares as the girl he specifically ordered away from his side appears in the midst of this land. The glimmer of her snow white coat reminiscent of all the beauty of Frostfall. With a haughty glance of disdain, golden eyes begin to burn. She is wise, choosing to remain in silence on the ground while she is so muddled with snow and ice. Instead, here dual colored eyes peer up owlishly at him, as though waiting for him to embrace her with harsh words or even less likely warm forgiveness. But no, he cannot bear to see her at this gathering of loyal worshippers and followers. Despite the pain mounting within his breast, he forces himself to act. From his hooves a trail of fire burns, becoming a wave and soon engulfing her. The image of the flame fades, having transported her back to her home in the Foothills. Let her bear the knowledge of her punishment, of his abandonment of her, in solitude.
The next to appear are but children, and the God could scoff at the showing. He gives of beauty, light, and brilliance, and yet the only ones to appear before him are lying wenches and useless babes? His contempt grows as their silence builds, feeling the nattering sound of white noise and crackling flames as they all stare dumbfounded at his glory. The Lord of Light is growing weary of the mortals already. Admittedly, the little firebreather appears to be half dragon and polite, which is slightly intriguing. However, the God already has met what he assumes is this one's sire. Vikram, the bastard child of an equine and the powerful dragon, had found a lass brave enough to bear his children. How lucky of him. All the more bitter the Sun feels.
He gives off warmth, but does he ever receive the same courtesy from others?
They all bow, even the full grown mare who appears after the children. Still, his pride is not heightened. The God of the Sun feels nothing from the automatic gestures, but had they been absent perhaps he might. However, she is the first to speak, rising from the flames he had strewn like a bitch in heat, but one with a voice, in the very least. "I need not be welcomed into the land I created," his voice echoes with a liquid sort of charm, biting yet in a light enough way. "Tell me, Talianna, what is it you desire from me?" Her name is plucked from her mind with little more than a glancing thought from the deity, his eyes glaring at her with golden fire.
A familiar voice calls to him then, and the deity breaks his gaze to turn to his Oracle, a small smile perked on his lips. "Hello, daughter of the Throat. You are most welcome to stand in the rays of the sun." The smile is ripped from the deity's face as another bastard of winter comes... straggling to his company. However, the quaking breath of the beast and the worried visage of the owl near to him makes the God sigh. A monster, a devil, an angry child - the Sun had been called all of these things, yet those who knew him well would see the truth. He is no mortal, but a heart still beats in the chest of gold.
"Mauja, you look terrible," he says, blithely, before taking the opportunity to joke with cutting golden eyes. "Playing with fire again, you naughty boy?" However, as his words glide from his mouth, the white tail snaps again. The liquid rays of the sun splatter upon the spotted and charred shoulder of the once great King, melding and growing with the flesh, stitching and mending the wound caused by a dragon. More importantly, the warmth of the Sun begins to sooth the roaring sting of burnt flesh as it repairs the nerve endings exposed to cold winter air. The God of the Sun may be easily enraged, but he is not a cruel bitch like his back stabbing sister. Mauja has faced enough turmoil at the hooves of Gods.
While his golden eyes watch the work of sunlight on skin, more children arrive, much to the annoyance of the Lord. They remain silent, much like the others, except for the tiny whisper of the last girl to arrive. Turning his elegant, horned head, the Sun looks toward the sweetly eyed filly with interest. "Hello, child," he says abruptly. "You are a daughter of my home, are you not?" He offers a light look, though the weight of the others still rides heavily. "I have a task for you."
"I would have you seek out three individuals foul and foreign to your eyes," he says, his words serious but voice quiet. "However, I need you to tell me their true dispositions, their hearts, and introduce me to their hidden selves. If you complete this task, I will give you a gift."
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