11-03-2019, 06:09 AM
You’re uncontrollable
and we are unlovable
and we are unlovable
The familiarity of Icicle Isle is easy for the male to adapt to; he’s lived here before, feeling that it was the place where he belonged, though in retrospect he wasn’t sure about the timing. Now, Ice Fairy had sent him back up here again, perhaps because she felt the same, perhaps because she was similarly tied to this place as well.
Or, perhaps she hadn’t really told him to go here specifically - that had been his own decision; mostly because he felt that simply returning to his lair in Hyaline wouldn’t quite be the same thing, not a challenge, to fulfill the quest she’d sent him on. A quest of self-re-discovery, if he was honest with himself.
He remembers pulling Sabra down, at her request, but still. He’d tried to take care of her as well as he could, afterwards, ‘storing’ her body in a safe place, not to be eaten by predators nor to rot away; stored her in a cold cavern as high up a Hyaline mountain as he could. There, she - or her body - would safely wait for her return to the living world.
He’d made a shelter out of ice, an igloo of sorts if a human would see it to give it a name, not too far from the heart-shaped lake up north. The wind otherwise, is blowing around freely and unforgivingly. It’s icy breath announces death to those who don’t find shelter in the winter season, taking the young, the old, and the weak to feed the predators of the Isle. Frankly, he’s one of those - if the opportunity arises.
His vision finds the heat signals of lemmings, hares and other sorts of things easily; but his molten orange gaze - the color adaption betraying heat vision - today finds another sort of shape. He approaches easily, his large build ploughing through snow and ice quickly. The bush is one of few, most perished in the cold of the season, but it is the sturdy kind that will stay here all winter, to bloom again come spring.
Switching back, he is barely in time to finally see the shadows that he wouldn’t have picked up on with pure heat vision; stopping in his tracks, the frosted-over male snorts. A horse after all; no, a foal. Yet colder than they should be.
He rounds the bush, pushing through the shadows as if they don’t exist - he knows his mother’s twilight ability, knows they are only made of light as long as the user isn’t so strong, or not intent on attacking. And this looks like a freezing foal. ”Where’d you come from?” he says - simply because he needs to say something, and only hoping that his horse-like behaviour is enough not to scare the child away. A quick vision change - ice blue to molten orange, and back to blue in the same blink - reveals no predators, yet not a mother-shaped heat source either.
As he edges closer, intent on sharing what little heat his own body holds, he wonders silently if the fairy might have foreseen this child.
Or, perhaps she hadn’t really told him to go here specifically - that had been his own decision; mostly because he felt that simply returning to his lair in Hyaline wouldn’t quite be the same thing, not a challenge, to fulfill the quest she’d sent him on. A quest of self-re-discovery, if he was honest with himself.
He remembers pulling Sabra down, at her request, but still. He’d tried to take care of her as well as he could, afterwards, ‘storing’ her body in a safe place, not to be eaten by predators nor to rot away; stored her in a cold cavern as high up a Hyaline mountain as he could. There, she - or her body - would safely wait for her return to the living world.
He’d made a shelter out of ice, an igloo of sorts if a human would see it to give it a name, not too far from the heart-shaped lake up north. The wind otherwise, is blowing around freely and unforgivingly. It’s icy breath announces death to those who don’t find shelter in the winter season, taking the young, the old, and the weak to feed the predators of the Isle. Frankly, he’s one of those - if the opportunity arises.
His vision finds the heat signals of lemmings, hares and other sorts of things easily; but his molten orange gaze - the color adaption betraying heat vision - today finds another sort of shape. He approaches easily, his large build ploughing through snow and ice quickly. The bush is one of few, most perished in the cold of the season, but it is the sturdy kind that will stay here all winter, to bloom again come spring.
Switching back, he is barely in time to finally see the shadows that he wouldn’t have picked up on with pure heat vision; stopping in his tracks, the frosted-over male snorts. A horse after all; no, a foal. Yet colder than they should be.
He rounds the bush, pushing through the shadows as if they don’t exist - he knows his mother’s twilight ability, knows they are only made of light as long as the user isn’t so strong, or not intent on attacking. And this looks like a freezing foal. ”Where’d you come from?” he says - simply because he needs to say something, and only hoping that his horse-like behaviour is enough not to scare the child away. A quick vision change - ice blue to molten orange, and back to blue in the same blink - reveals no predators, yet not a mother-shaped heat source either.
As he edges closer, intent on sharing what little heat his own body holds, he wonders silently if the fairy might have foreseen this child.
and I don’t want you to think that I care
I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Beryl]
something of a sort. he can adopt her if you want?
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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