resurrect the saint within the wretch
The bitter chill of winter numbs his skin and brings tension into his muscles, but the horned stallion does not mind. It is a relief, almost, from the sweltering heat of Tephra that is consistently accompanied by the stinging smell of salt and smoke. Here, in the river, the air is clear and cold - he feels clarity beneath the wind scrubbed skies above him, their color so blue that it would perhaps put Ischia’s crystal waters to shame on a day like today.
Freshly fallen snow crunches beneath the darkness of his hooves, shifting beneath his weight as the bay overo pegasus picks his way across a terrain he is quite unused to being in. In some areas, the snow is deeper than steps he had made before and there is a huff of quiet laughter that leaves him when he sinks to his knees. Somewhat awkwardly he would leap from the divot of snow, back onto the surface where he attempts to tread lightly so he could keep from falling into the white powder once again.
Warden’s legs are numb by the time he reaches the river where - thankfully - the snow thins out. The river does not freeze during the dead of winter for its current is too fast and, because of its movement, any snow that would be on the outer banks breaks off into the water to float lazily downstream. He watches his reflection for a moment, the brilliance of the deep blue of his horns catching the winter’s sun and sparkling harshly in the river’s current. He sighs, lost somewhere in his thoughts, before lowering his head to drink.
@[greta]
