"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
They come, answering the call on the Mountain, and then they set off for Icicle Isle. Some underestimate what a task it will be – perhaps they have never swam through frigid waters, or perhaps they simply thought “Icicle Isle” was a cute moniker and not a description. Some of them don’t understand that the fae are going to take their gifts, until it happens. Some of them don’t understand, well, anything. But, they persevere. All of those who gathered at the bottom of the mountain make it to the shores of Taiga or Nerine, and descend into the sea.
That’s where the true challenge starts. The water is cold, and colder when they get close to the island. They shiver and struggle; facing their own doubts and physical weakness, or the predators that swim close, investigating whether horse might be their next easy meal. No one steps in to help them – they were clear, at the beginning; it is only through the work and sacrifice of the people that they can fix this disaster. Equal sacrifice for the life they took for no reason, in support of the dark mage. But, they cannot persevere if they freeze to death.
They take mercy on those who made the swim. A warm breeze blows oddly through, ruffling coats and hair. They’re standing on the shore in loose clusters and tight knots, some even alone, and the wind plays in eddies and swirls much like the tide of the ocean, until they are barely damp. It will continue to be uncomfortable, but they won’t freeze to death. As they begin to gather their wits, it becomes clear that there are two paths stretching from the beach deep into Icicle Isle. They have only a few minutes to glance at it while they are drying, and then the wind that was their warm lifeline blows cold, and the sky begins to darken. Snow-heavy clouds roll in quickly, and as it begins to fall, visibility fails.
There is ice and snow, heavy flakes and dry snow-dust, and nobody can see more than a few feet in front of their own faces. The storm is disorienting; they can barely tell up from down, left from right. The wind howls around them and friends more than a few steps away disappear completely. It’s not even clear, now, where the water is. It’s clear to even the most foolhardy creature that to wander into this storm would mean death; they have no idea how long the storm will last. In order to proceed to the heart-shaped pond as instructed, they will have to follow one of the clearly marked paths, where worn ground underfoot will be their guide.
The question, of course, is which path. Left, or right?
Rules -Round 2 entries are to be posted in this thread no later than NOVEMBER 19TH at 11:00 PM CST -Your post should describe how they proceed, including reactions to the storm and fighting through the storm down a path they can barely see. They may work together or go on their own. You should CLEARLY indicate whether your character goes left or right. End your post while your horse is traveling on their chosen path. -Your character has lost any and all traits for this quest -Failing to respond on time or at all without notifying the officials you are dropping out will result in a permanent defect
The moment her hooves reach the frozen tundra, she is all too aware of the ice forming on her. It is uncomfortable and whatever feeble attempts she makes at saving body heat is whisked away with another blast of cold air. That is until a sudden warmth fills the atmosphere, when all bodies have made it to shore. Obviously dead participants were useless and the fairies were showing them mercy. And oh how brief it is.
Two paths are laid out and she looks quickly to them. Her sienna coat is nearly dry when a shift in weather comes. A winters fury like none other, bares down on them. Ice and snow. Wind and cold. It comes with vengeance and suddenly there is little to see.
The frigid temps around her, squeeze what little breath remains from her lungs. It hurts to breathe, ice begins to crystallize on the lining of her nares -the back of her throat goes numb with cold. She doesn't ask why. Why here of all the places, because she knows all too well the fae have their reasons. So she remembers the two paths that have seemingly disappeared. One to the right and the other to the left. Her mind fumbles to grasp the choices and possible outcomes.
Another cold blast of wind comes up behind her and pushes her forwards but slightly right. Right it is.
A chattering comes of jaw and bone, as she struggles to find her bearings. She can hardly see her own nose, let alone anything in front of her, so she decides to look down. The motion shields her eyes from the icy breath of the winter's rage. But in doing so, opens her eyes to a well beaten path. A slight pulse of adrenaline pushes through her body at her finding. It warms her insides just the slightest and for a moment she has hope. Hope for Beqanna, hope for all who call Her home, hope to live to see tomorrow.
It is a fleeting feeling, as yet again, the wrath of the land is upon her. Her body is raped by shards of ice -like glass- they cut her thin skin in the bare spots of her rust-colored coat. Her facial features wince in pain as her body is riddled with cuts. Crimson droplets begin to form and are immediately frozen to the fresh wounds, effectively clotting them. At least she won't bleed to death.
I must continue, she tells herself. So with eyes to the ground, she follows every bend and twist the path leads her down. How far she has gone and how much farther she must go, is still an unknown. But she has faith that the fairies have put her on the right path...
Many more horses took the treacherous journey to the Isle from the mainland, some of them pushing their pace faster than Nalia, others taking their time to save their energy for later in the trip. Nalia's vision was a bit hazy from how tired she was, but looking around at the variety of horses that came to the Isle, she was grateful that so many like her were willing to give up their own safety, their lives, to try and help the other residents of Beqanna.
She saw a few familiar faces in the herd, but a majority were completely new to her. Not that she minded of course; the more there were, the greater the chance they had of trying to figure this situation out. Of course, it didn't seem like any of them were really in the mood since they were all still freezing from the swim over here, Nalia herself included. Her fur was plastered to her body and her mane and tail made her look like a drowned field rat and shaking it off didn't seem to help much.
But something out there appeared to feel sorry for those who had come here, for one minute, Nalia's body was shaking from the cold; the next, she felt a warm breeze ruffling her coat, mane, and tail, slowly but effectively removing all the water and warming her from her hooves to her belly, causing the filly to let out a relieved sigh. Well, at least that was one less issue to deal with. The weather here in the Isle was still not good, given it was cold, but at least the horses were no longer wet and had to take the brunt of mother nature's force.
The breeze continued to blow across the beach where the horses were gathered, fluffing Nalia's mane and causing the half of it close to her withers to flop onto the other side of her neck. She suddenly felt vulnerable, a bit naked as it were, since she was used to her hair being on one side of her neck, but she was too distracted by what she saw up ahead to pay much attention to it.
In front of the herd of horses stretched two paths leading into the Isle; one that disappeared to the right, the other on the left. Nalia continued to stare at them, in their direction, long after darkness covered the land due to the storm clouds and the warm breeze turned a 180 so that it once again matched the temperature of the ocean.
Snow began to fall from the clouds, further hampering everyone's visibility more than a few feet, and Nalia found herself snorting in displeasure. This was getting beyond ridiculous; she knew the quest wouldn't be easy, but now they had to compete with this just after being dried up? Nalia had never believed in karma before but she had a sneaking suspicion that something she'd done was leading to whatever force was out there to punish the others by making this challenge even more difficult than others they may have been part of.
What made it even more difficult was the physical pain the storm was causing; not even counting the chilling cold the blizzard came with, the wind was whipping around at such a speed that Nalia felt it penetrate her coat like a predator's claws, practically cutting into her skin and leaving tiny marks. She didn't feel any blood dripping yet, but knew that if she stayed here and allowed the wind to continue it's torment, she'd end up being worse off. Question was, which was was she supposed to go?
Nalia had to focus to maintain her wits in the middle of this blizzard, but it was taking its toll on every horse. Those who had been standing near her were now masked by the whiteout, hiding the salty scent of the ocean and the Isle stretching out in front of her so she knew where to go. Nalia looked around frantically, letting out a call to see if anyone was nearby. She worried that over the noise, no horse would be able to hear her, and now that she'd seen there were others here on the Isle, she began to grow nervous at being alone again.
What if any of the horses who made the journey here got stuck in the whiteout and couldn't figure out where to go next? As it was, Nalia was having a tough time navigating forward, relying on her memory from where she stood and how far it was to get to the two paths that forked off, heading in different directions deeper into the Isle. She purposely dragged her hooves through the snow to try and feel the ground underneath, finding the task to be fatiguing after a while due to how the amount of snow was building up the longer the storm remained.
This part of the quest was already her least favorite, and she still didn't know how much left there was to go. Continuing her blind search, Nalia felt the ground beneath the snow each time she dragged her feet, eventually feeling the texture change that signaled the beach ended and the trail began. It was slight, but enough to tell her she found what she was looking for, despite having to squint her eyes to avoid getting fully blinded.
Glancing back toward the beach, the filly let out another call, louder this time, praying with every beat of her heart that at least one horse heard her so she could give them a clue as to where they needed to go to get off the beach and onto one of the trails. Wishing them the best, and that hopefully she'd have a chance to meet up with them again when they were out of the storm, the filly took a few more steps down the trail that headed to the left, gritting her teeth against the chilling pain the winter storm was causing her.
11-17-2018, 10:39 PM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2018, 02:29 AM by Briella.
Edit Reason: spelling/grammar
)
Briella
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
Behind her she can hear the water lapping at the coast, she can hear the ebb and flow and all the cracking sounds as the drift ice floats and breaks… the slamming sound at it crashes in on itself and forms impossibly large sheets. It’s almost mechanical in a way, almost metallic or akin to the twanging of wires snapping and bending, and in a way this frightens her- it blends together with shrill gales and sounds like the screams of beasts she cannot know: creatures whose teeth and claws will stalk her, even in her dreams… and she is afraid.
Weary, tired, and afraid: a creature so sick and ragged that she might collapse at the gust and its cruel warmth; but she remains standing and looking out across the blanket of snow and ice- across the vast expanse of the northern portion of the Isle. Red berries break periodically through the white, through the bleak and sun-laden wilds, and she sees something that the Fairies had all but asked of her to see before… one she created.
Paths, two paths.
Snow packed down and a semblance of what could be seen as walls forming to create impressions of walkways. Her eyes trailing along each but there is little to be seen ahead of herself as the white out conditions worsen and the raging storm bears its breath down upon them all: these ragged, wet, and shaggy beasts of the wild whose hearts pound and minds race with a mixture of emotions.
Had she the perception to think of it, Briella might’ve sworn too… that this ran the risk and splintering or bruising the weary soul with a dark inkling of doubt and fear; but she a child, and while clever- not so much a great philosopher.
She does, however, have someone else. The darkly colored man whose shadows had been stripped of him and he who was left naked and skinny, sickly, and vulnerable. Ether, she thinks to herself, claims to have been sent by her family- and so she endears herself to his side and presses into him for warmth and support as her tiny legs burn and ache… as they shiver and shake from fever and the wintry chill of the Isle.
Santana, Wane, Eszka, Leilan, and Ether- faces and voices she knows, people who had joined her: those who comforted and consoled- watched while they all sought the same goals and desire. She can only do so much through and to see them on the shore is enough to stir the war-drum like pounding in her chest… the bravery and iron in her spine, and the steadiness and sureness of her thoughts and what she must do.
“Okay,” she speaks up quietly and softly- without hint of malice or tension: only the tranquility and calm that allows her to speak over the shrieking wind. “I wish everyone luck, I don’t know this part- I’m sorry… please don’t be mad. We’re going to do it, okay? We can help- yeah we can.” for a moment it’s almost a question that she answers herself, a likelihood result of the chaos in her young mind.
Still, nothing can do will chase away the blight and bleakness, the impenetrable white that manifests and blurs her vision as she walks and desperately tries to orient herself. She can no longer see the shore or hear the drift ice: instead there is almost nothing unless it is right in front of her and in that, she finds herself at a loss… so she tracks to the paths and stands before moving: desperate and feeling a frenzy in the corners and shadows of her mind: a need to know, to orient herself.
Yet? Briella can not.
Instead she takes a breath, a moment: time to endure the wind and frost as it batters her sooty chestnut body and grays the fur with crystals and icy reminds of its danger. With, or without, Ether- she carries on and steps suddenly down the left-most pathway; but as predicted the moment her small hooves leave the safety of the stony shore the world behind her is swallowed in insufferable white.
Not even a shadow stirs.
Blinded and tired her body is tugged suddenly, and the wind bellows and berates her so hard that she stumbles and nearly falls into the vast drifts and mountainous dunes. Her steps are not straight, no, her path is suddenly curved and blown this way and that: tumbled and violent. She whimpers and makes several distinct ‘ow’ or pain related sounds as the agony sets in and her muscles are torn and worn: weary and so stiff that even the bones have started to ache.
She takes two steps and is driven four to the right, and then another three to the left as she tries and tries: as Briella pressed her ears backwards and tries to lower her spindly legs down to the ground: to get lower than the snowy walls in order to stop the wind and its vicious squalling.
Grit was the only gift she had, nothing magical; but something so ingrained into her being that it seemed to drive her even when her mind began to think that it might be best to turn back… grit stopped her, courageous and selfless frit. Tenacity and a ferocious desire to fulfill the thing she has started: Briella should be dead by all accounts… she should starving and sick: bloodied and rotting with maggot and worm, and ravaged by hunger.
For all that? She still does not fear nor turn back. Not when cramp and muscle tension beneath her skin pierce her, when blood drips down her tiny maw from those flared nostrils, as hunger and thirst seize her primal reaches of the brain: no.
She must go on. She must go and try: she has to give them at least that, because hope is what burns brightest, a wildfire of impossible size that roars inside her soul.
For all her suffering, she endures: because they, they are worth it, and they need this help- this chance. Thus Briella endures the shrill wind and razor-like frost, the impossible blindness and breath that feels like it might rip her apart with every inhale into her heavy lungs. To the left, she thinks, that is where she goes: where she must, because she cannot take both, and the Fairies did not tell her to make her own this time.
“Fairies?” she speaks up. “If something happens to me, please don’t let my family feel sad.”
Reality has stricken her, a hardness and coldness of thought: a realization of her own mortality, and even then in the small existential moment of dread and the impossibly agony of fear of her own demise, she tries to beg for the others, not for her own ease; but of someone else's.
Still shivering, Leander looked about himself and noticed the two paths opposite him that would lead inward. Bleakly, he wondered which might serve to take him to the heart-shaped pond. As he considered either direction, the wind began to change. Tendrils of heat reached him, and he could feel the way the unseasonal breeze started to thaw him from the inside out. The ice on his fur melted away and the chill of his bones slowly dissipated as he stood in it, soaking it in appreciatively until he felt blessedly warm – but it didn’t last.
Once more, the air grew cold.
The skies darkened.
The storm came.
By the time he had taken a few steps forward, he could hardly make out the two well-worn paths he’d beheld so clearly only minutes ago. He knew there were others – he’d seen their figures dotting the sand further up the beach, though he’d been too far behind to recognize any of them – and now there is little chance of his catching up to them. Besides, Leander knew he could not dare to venture in any other direction besides the one he’d finally chosen for fear of losing his way entirely.
Through the chaos of the storm, he went left.
Had he actually felt warm when the wind had changed, or had he imagined it? He certainly didn’t feel warm anymore. Keeping his head low, a relentless barrage of gale and snow attacked his progress. His brown eyes fought to remain fixed upon the well-worn path underfoot against the icy sleet. His cough worsened, the sickness exacerbated by the subzero temperatures. Every part of him became frost-tipped and frozen. But the splashed stallion knew that if he stopped moving, he might not start again – so he kept going. One step, and then the next. Despite the ache of his wingless shoulders, the weakness of his muscles and the sickly spasm of his lungs, the cold in his very veins, Leander pressed on.
But to where?
He was sure to find out.
leander
take a bullet to the heart just to keep you safe; like a dream in my arms but i’m wide awake
this time I’m torn, please wake me if I lose that face search in these eyes: there’s still fire in the darkness
This was just another time she was foolish, biting off more than she could chew. This was just another time she would come to regret. Another time that would break her.
She had come this far though.
She may as well continue on to her death, or worse.
As she stood there on the frozen tundra shore cursing herself for being stupid enough to leave 'home' as if she could ever do anything worthwhile, a soft breeze breathed and radiated a gentle warmth into her. It pushed into her coat plastered to her skin, gradually drying her to a light dampness instead of soaked through, trailing soft fingers through her wavy mane. After the swim through frigid waters, it was all so welcome and she breathed easier. She hadn't a clue what it was for, why this breeze chose to help in this small way, but she was grateful nonetheless.
Briefly.
Then it turned cold again and rudely gusted her from behind, her mane and tail flagging forward as she gritted her teeth with an irritated frown. Typical.
The sky was growing quickly darker and it was enough to hint that it was time to move, no stalling. Before the drifts of snow took her sight away, she caught a glimpse of two pathways, and only two. Left or right. Then her vision filled with white, her teeth chattering with the returned cold and her legs trembling. She was accustomed to island heat and this was the most miserable weather she'd ever had to experience.
Well, then. Left or right.
No going back.
For a long few minutes, she only stood locked in place, the storm pressing in on her in waves and flurries that didn't seem to have a set direction. One moment it would be sweeping from her left side, then suddenly it would shift and push from the right. It was unpredictable, but mostly she was only waiting until that image solidified in her mind like a map. She knew just about which way to turn, and about how far she should expect to walk to reach a pathway. That would tell her she'd made it.
The freezing cold made her want to rush, just run and get this over with sooner. Maybe there was shelter from the wind further ahead on the pathway. She hadn't gotten to see it long enough to be sure. All she could do was continue forward.
She angled her face in the direction she wanted to go. To the right. Her chin was tucked in tight, her hair whipping in random directions as the wind changed without notice. She took a solid step, dragging her foot across the ground to be sure she didn't waver in her pathway. Neither path had looked better than the other at first glance, though she hadn't gotten to see them but for a breath or two. This was as good as any. Once she'd made the decision, she stayed to it though. Resolute, or just damn stubborn.
She took another step, slowly pulling herself forward in the wicked Winter. It felt like it took eons of this dragging pace before she found the worn ground beneath her, somehow bare from the snow coating everything else. Good. She'd made it this far. She'd found the path.
Wallace pressed on, the images of her broken daughters in her mind.
She would set this right. They would go home.
baby, when I'm in your arms, I can make honest sense of love and war's alarms
The ice in the air freezes in her lungs.
She can feel it collecting, shards in her throat and over her tongue. Bitter and biting as she struggles to breathe, the effort amplified by the weakness of her body. Her nostrils flare and she feels her legs shake. Was she ever going to make it home? Was she ever going to be able to tell her family how much she loves them? Apologize to Dovev for everything that has ever gone wrong between them? She doesn’t know. She can’t say, and the doubt of it all simmers there, coming to a steady boil of upset as she stands shivering on the beach.
When the wind comes, she closes her eyes and sighs into it. The air is warm, much warmer than what had previously been blowing, and she can’t help but wonder if it comes from Tephra. Her nostrils flare, delicate skin slick with exhaustion, as she hunts for a trace of sulphur. Something to remind her of home. Something to carry with it traces of familiarity.
She finds none, but it is comforting all the same.
It is enough comfort that she is able to open her eyes fully and comprehend what lies before her, the path wicked and forked as it snakes away from them. She frowns as she takes a testing step forward, head tilting to the side in thought. There was no sign pointing to which one was the correct option. There was no sign showing which one would lead to a better understanding of the cure and which one would simply take you nowhere.
But she doesn’t have time to ponder on it for long. Because as seemingly quick as the comfort the wind brought, it brings pain in equal measure. The warm breath of it turns frosty and the sky begins to darken her brows draw together as she tilts her head back, watching the storm gather and cluster around the island. Fear doesn’t strike her but worry does as she takes another step forward. Her crimson tail whips behind her, driven by the wind, and she swallows back more doubts, more uncertainties, as she takes another step forward.
Left or right?
Left or right?
She can barely see know, the wind stirring up particles of ice and snow before her, and she knows that she doesn’t have time to contemplate this for long.
Left or right?
Frustration strikes at her, fear for her daughters, and she takes a steadying breath, ignoring the sharp stab of pain as the cold coats her throat.
There is no right answer for her.
But she can try.
Squaring her shoulders, she angles her body to the right and presses through the driving wind as it sliced through her. With all of the resolve she can muster, coughing sporadically as the sickness continues to work its way through her, she begins to make her way down the right path, doing her best to not think of what lies ahead but instead each and every step she must take to get there.
but there's something primal underneath and it drives this nothingness I seek
Prancing and pacing, he figures he had arrived perhaps earlier than some. At the very least, the capillary effect of horse hair is enough that they don’t all remain entirely drenched and soaked the whole time, though it takes all their body heat to dry. Moving around, pacing, he registers a few names, but it seems as though nobody pays attention to him as he circles a ways apart from the group. He knows Briella and Nalia by name but doesn’t feel like a slightly-larger-than-they stallion like himself should just go up ahead to them and cuddle them to keep warm. Such a weird view that would be - besides, not something their parents and partner would appreciate no doubt, even if he does indeed have no other intentions than to protect everybody (self included) from freezing to death.
But surely this can’t be the end, the fairies need something from them - and it turns out that it isn’t, indeed. A warm wind accompanies them all, and his coat (not so dense since because of his previous scales, he hadn’t grown a winter coat) gets dried fully. He suspects a winter coat might still be damp, but when the wind changes into the familiar ice, he still regrets not having one.
The weather change disrupts his senses - can’t see much, secretly wishing for the heat vision again; can’t hear much above the wind though a familiar voice might be whinnying somewhere on the left; he tries not to even think of smelling out anything or anyone, nostrils so very numb. His eyes are narrowed, his breath is shallow, ears get tucked away in his silvery-and-black mane for some sort of warmth.
Two paths appear, and going straight through the middle is certain death, in this kind of magical storm. Staying behind however, also isn’t an option. Shit. It was the worst timing in the world to go to the Mountain. He wonders if the fairies had done it on purpose perhaps, could they have known? Not sure.
Triple shit. Familiar and unfamiliar figures pick their trails, and he hears the voice of Ard’s mate going left, as well as Briella’s tiny questioning voice soon after. He nears the choice - and decides then. It doesn’t matter which way he goes; there will be a chance that someone doesn’t make it. That the path they pick loops back or ends in endless white nothingness - he thinks that the right path might be right or turn him to the sea; he thinks the left path might be right as some kind of joke the fairies would make, see, left is right, haha, or that it could loop back in circles or lead to the other side of the island. It could be that because of that thought they had purposefully not made the left path right, double trickery. Or triple. None. There’s no way of knowing.
But he knows that some Nerinians are going left. So he goes right.
There’s a small chance he might not make it back to his family perhaps, but at least, he’s spreading their chances, and he’s quite sure they’ll get the message that he’d made it to here - albeit they might or might not have recognized him, bare as he is now.
He hurries after the forms of those ahead of him on the path, broad feathered hooves shoving through the snow as quickly as he can muster, and hopes the fairies will have enough mercy to not let half the group simply freeze to death.
Surely, even if they were that andry and rude, that would mean they’d have less followers to run any other errands, right? Hmm.
In this moment, he might be better of not thinking everything through a million times.
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
It’s only empty space behind him, followed by an endless ocean that churns wave, after wave, after wave, but on his tongue he’s already aligned the perfect set of words to meet her with a joke about the two of them sharing body heat for survival. With his lips slightly agape as though he means to speak (because he had, he had been so sure she would be there with him) they slip out with the realization and are lost somewhere in the space Eszka isn’t filling. There are no soft colours to remind him of continents; no eyes that resemble the sky draining of colour.
There is no laughter, only sea.
It’s only in this moment that Wane first recognizes the scale of the error he’s made in not looking behind him when he plunged into the water first. He had thought at the time he’d heard a second splash of water being thrown and the distinct crackle of ice giving way underfoot, but perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps she is safe and sound, crashing in the surf, waiting in Nerine like he had begged her to. But if she didn’t wait, where is she now? In the water still? Under it?
And just like that a choice is laid out before him:
Does he plunge back into the freezing water to find her, at home or otherwise, or does he keep going for the sake of his newly founded family?
Who needs him more?
The decision is a catalyst, even if he doesn’t realize it at first. It’s agonizing, but faster than he had expected, and he shuffles sideways to see it through with his next steps. Only, he doesn’t need to — because there, in the distance, carried to his ears on a warm, embracing wind that has no business in this frozen wasteland is her voice, shrill and frightened, but here. Eszka is here. Eszka is safe. There’s no decision left to make, and the thought of that on it’s own is almost enough to warm him. Wane cranes his head to the left to try and pick her out from the gathering crowd on the shoreline, not once wondering how it is that all of these horses have come from different directions with different timelines and all managed to land on this same shoreline together.
It doesn’t matter if she’s here.
The first thing he sees in the distance is the small and fragile outline of Briella, exhausted but alive, and not alone. Wane finds a wave of relief washing over him that he hadn’t realized he would be as thankful for as he is. Beyond her, then, is Eszka (has to be), and as his eyes flit from shape to shape they finally settle on one that looks softer than the rest.
He’s almost picked her out from the crowd when everything changes again.
Because it twists then, the wind, and cruelly so — growing dark, and cold, and wicked.
Like the culmination of the earth’s wrath, manifested here and now by snow and ice. It’s violent, pelting snow and ice back and forth against every plane of his already aching body. It blinds them, as rage is apt to do.
And nearly the instant she is found, Eszka is lost again.
Holding onto the conjured image of her face, he stumbles left with unseeing eyes. He calls out, too, for Briella and for Eszka, but the howl of the wind comes round to obliterate the sound of it nearly the second it falls out of his throat. The only choice now is to keep trudging forwards, because waiting to be battered by the wind and ice from every angle would spell out his own demise, he’s certain. Briella and Eszka were both survivors. They would keep moving, too.
So, that’s what he does.
The snow is a wall of white before him. It cries out against his ears as torrents of whirling snowflakes fall again and again across his face, building cities on his eyelashes as though they mean to stay. There is one moment though, where the storm quiets just enough for him to make out a call through it, distorted though it may be. It sounds like her, so he continues blindly in the hopes that at the end of this path he’ll find Eszka again.
The truth is that he doesn’t know what path he has taken, just that he’s on one, the worn earth telling underfoot. It isn’t a choice so much as it’s a conclusion:
{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }
There on the coast of Icicle Isle, the faeries take pity on us. As Solace and I huddle into each other, a blessedly warm wind blows; I mutter words of thanks into my wife's skin, hoping against hope that this respite might extend longer than I know it will. As our coats dry, I take the liberty of lifting my head to scan our surroundings; ahead, two paths stretch. It is a reasonable distance away, right at the end of the beach; one clearly goes left, and the other right. I wonder for a moment what it could possibly mean.
A snow flake lands on my nose. It shouldn't, but it chills me to my bones; within seconds, the snow is falling thickly. Looking frantically from side to side, I spot Valdis, and then -
"Litotes!"
But the wind picks up and I do not hear his reply, and in fact, the snow falls now so quickly that I cannot even see the General of Hyaline. Choking down a sob, I turn to press myself to Solace, endlessly thankful that we have not yet parted ways.
"Not so far now," I lie. "Let's get to it."
Bending and twisting my head to protect my eyes from the onslaught of snow and ice, I begin to step forward through the now-frozen sand, making sure to never allow my skin to part from Solace's. We walk side by side now, as equals. After a few steps, I stop, confused and disoriented - other hoof prints are in the snow but I don't remember seeing or hearing anyone. Have we come this way before? Crestfallen, it is only when Solace yells words of encouragement through the storm and sets out on a new path that I begin moving again, my joints arguing loudly against the cold of the tempest.
At last, we arrive at the mouths of the two telltale paths. Just as we halt, a pale yellow figure brushes past me.
"Leander! Cousin!"
But my words are lost to the might of the storm, and I must watch as he disappears two steps later onto the left-most path. Aching and scared, I turn to Solace and am shocked to see Litotes by her side.
Swallowing, I attempt to collect myself.
"Litotes, which way will you go?"
I squint through the storm, wondering he heard me. He must have read my lips, for I do not hear him when he shouts back; but then he gestures to the right. I nod, and gesture to the left.
Divide and conquer.
Shuddering and miserable in my fear, I beckon Solace forward onto the path to the left. We have yet to see anything except a wall of white in this shitstorm; but the wellworn path will lead us somewhere one way or another, and we have now only to pray that the faeries take mercy on us.
![[Image: avatar-1975.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/8PxJp5dv/avatar-1975.gif){kind=avatar}
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