He has lived here for as long as he can remember. The days, months, even years all blur together into one big smear of life and memory; none of it really matters to the hulking brute. Gilgamesh lives where the weather is harshest, where the winds howl and the sun disappears for months. He only comes south when all signs of life vanish from the snowy mountains.
Even the other few residents of Icicle Isle don't know he's there. Gilgamesh is a hulking titan, but keeps entirely to himself and stays in the northern point of the island where the snow falls even in August. When the stallion ventures south, he goes to the open territories for food or water or other varying needs. Only rarely does he spend any time in the southern part of the isle.
He supposes he should find out who the current leader of the Isle is, if there is any. It's a land as hard as the stone itself, and only those with the strongest wills and survival skills can survive here. But Gil has a mission, and he will not be distracted.
"Find a bone too big to be from a normal horse," she'd said, the words echoing in his mind as well as his ears. "Clean it with a fresh snowfall, and bring it to me."
He knows just the place.
There is a cavern, far, far north, where the winds bite just as bitterly as the winter does in the south even in summer. It's at the northern point of a small heart-shaped lake that spends most of the year frozen hard enough for even the 18h brute to walk across -- the stallion had found it by accident. And there are bones in there. Bones that defy imagination. Bones from an age so far gone that even their memory has turned to dust.
Gilgamesh needs one of those to bring back to the faerie, and no one is going to stop him.
