resurrect the saint within the wretch
Winter once again bears its ugly head and like every year prior, Warden finds himself lost within the static of blizzard-like snow. His wings ache fiercely with the sheer intensity of the cold, let alone the power it took him to steer through the whirlwind of ice and howling, bitter wind. The storm rips at his skin, bitter and unrelenting; and even though he is in the midst of chaos, there is a sense of calm in the deep blue of his eyes. It was in these moments - where the world seems more turbulent than himself - that he feels the sting of hope. (He also felt this looking into her eyes, but that is something he cannot bring himself to contemplate yet - not when so much stands in his way.)
The last time he had been in the forest was also after a malevolent tempest. During the summer, when the wood was humid and sweltering, the sound of moisture dripping from branches echoing the silence. He wonders briefly where Aislyn had gone off to after their heavy conversation, but the thought of her is mild and is quickly lost on him as he lands solidly into fresh snow, the entire forest seemingly at a standstill in time.
The stallion snorts, his body littered with ice crystals that still cling to him from his flight through the storm, a slight shiver running down his spine. Warden’s eyes lift almost forlornly to the stretch of gray skies that blanket the tops of the deep green trees; it’s in the silence that he feels the most out of control.
He sighs heavily, giving his sore wings a good shake or two before pulling them in close to his sides. The movement sets shimmers of snowflakes and ice free from his feathers, cascading around him like dust before floating unceremoniously into the snow. Dusk threatens the afternoon sun, sending long shadows across the perfect white canvas.
Warden isn’t sure how long he is alone in the forest when the silence is broken by the obvious sound of another. He lifts his head slightly, peering into the somewhat darkness almost blearily. What he finds causes the pale pink of his mouth to twitch upwards. It’s a smile, but it is hesitant and thoughtful - their meetings have yet to show anything but death and he wonders if they should both expect as much now.
Either way, he greets her warmly.
“Lilliana.”
@[Lilliana]