( There are places he will not touch: the woods here, with their dire wolves and dire threats to his sanity; resting places of the dead which stir and shift under their own whims and cacophony of hauntings; wings of merchants and celebratory not-yet-brides.
No. With the creatures below the ice contained once more to their prison, he stands instead there, footsteps the staccato heartbeat of his motion, his robes layered, red, and red, and white, and white, and white. Black for his shoes, and they settled too in white, the snow of the landscape fallen fresh and new and infant, and he, and he standing in it, blood red lips, night black hair, the shades of life spread thick inbetween.
Find me, he thinks. Wind shudders and chills through him, caresses his hair, sends it framing and flailing past his face, his shoulders, and settles again, whipping it back, then whirling away, roaring. Find me. )
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( There are places he will not touch: the woods here, with their dire wolves and dire threats to his sanity; resting places of the dead which stir and shift under their own whims and cacophony of hauntings; wings of merchants and celebratory not-yet-brides.
No. With the creatures below the ice contained once more to their prison, he stands instead there, footsteps the staccato heartbeat of his motion, his robes layered, red, and red, and white, and white, and white. Black for his shoes, and they settled too in white, the snow of the landscape fallen fresh and new and infant, and he, and he standing in it, blood red lips, night black hair, the shades of life spread thick inbetween.
Find me, he thinks. Wind shudders and chills through him, caresses his hair, sends it framing and flailing past his face, his shoulders, and settles again, whipping it back, then whirling away, roaring. Find me. )