it's not by bone but yet by blade
can break the magic that the devil made
What was once a vibrant green land, lush with flowers and life, was suddenly dark with a storm. The clouds rolled in swiftly as he pulled himself up, gazing skyward in stoic concern as the cover blanketed the Pampas. How long had he been under the spell of those red flowers? The last he remembered was the woman's face and the mournful howl of a wolf nearby, calling deep inside him to the other part of him he could no longer reach. He could not reply.
Thunder cracked suddenly and he startled, rising swiftly to his feet and looking around. Everyone he'd seen before was now gone and he wondered if he'd already failed. Perhaps this was the punishment for failing. He would not be surprised if he'd slept through the entire thing with how little rest he's gotten lately. He was also known to be a failure.
He really sucked at quitting though.
His brilliant blue eyes snapped to the range of flowers, the ones he was certain they were instructed to fetch. The flash of violent lightning that struck down on them immediately set them ablaze as if anticipating what he'd been intending. His dark face set in determination and he raced towards the danger, heedless of the threat it could pose him.
His daughter had attempted one of these quests, now it was his turn to do what he can for their home and the people of Beqanna as a whole.
Each meter of ground he gained, more lightning bolted down to burn the flowers, all of them. Foolish as always, he could only hope there would be some salvageable enough to take back to the fairy. It was a blessing the others were gone already or he'd be too distracted trying to keep them safe. So self-sacrificing.
Fire now roared on each side of him as he surged forward, the storm outraged that he dared to still attempt this quest. He clenched his teeth, his eyes hard, and reluctantly let his ice sweep over him. A thin sheet covered his vitals and his sides and he instantly wondered if that was why he was alone. Was this quest tailored to each individual? Fire would be thrown at him so he had to use his magic? The fairies were once again cruel. He'd always kept his magic at bay to the point that his people hadn't even been aware that he'd had any at all. His scowl turned sharper and he flung his ice from his body, bottled the magic back in as tight as he could.
He would not be manipulated yet again.
He did this by choice and they couldn't make him do a damn thing.
The fire seared his legs. The smell of burning flesh and fur slowly permeated the area and his blood dropped to the earth with each powerful beat. Close, he was so close now. He could do this. In pain and furious, he doubled his efforts, pushed himself to his limits even as he was met with a wall of flames, the lightning crashing on each side and thunder raging its wrath. As if that would stop him. As if anything could. He wasn't fighting for himself, for his own life. He had an entire land of people to protect, family and friends both inside and outside of it. He had Beqanna as a whole wrapped up and tucked away safely in his heart.
He lunged into the air as if he still had his wings, soaring over the burning wall with a sharp hiss as his belly singed. Ash and smoke filled his nose, his melting skin sloughing off his legs in pieces as he landed.
And still, he did not call forth his ice.
He would not be manipulated.
He'd do this just as any other horse could.
Tears clung to his eyes, drawing in more smoke and blurring his vision. He coughed deep enough that his body shook with it, pain like knives piercing him from the inside out. Still, he ripped a number of flowers from their stems, gathering as many as he could find in desperate, furtive movements. He had already been made aware that he was a fool. A fool to trust and a fool to continue this. Any other would've used their magic without hesitation. But he was a fool, and he did not.
Success is limited to perception. Did he complete his task? He knew the obvious answer might be no. He would not get these flowers to the fairy himself. Some might argue that he did, though. They may say that even as he burned alive, what was left of this meadow of flowers was guarded, plucked carefully from a dried, bleeding mouth and entombed in the most solid, small fortress of ice he could form. He covered it with his body, curled protectively around it as if it were his daughter, his son, or the world of Beqanna in a single entity. With the last vestiges of his power, he froze himself too for further protection of what he clutched tightly to his chest. The fairy would get what she asked for, delivered in a dead man's grasp.
He died for Beqanna.
No fire could ever melt this ice that was strengthened by his love, the man once known as The Heart of Taiga, powered by the sacrifice of his own life.
But they would be safe now. They were safe.
What should've been his dying breath was a gasp of life as he sat up abruptly, chest heaving and eyes wide. Moisture glimmered openly on his cheeks. His heart raced wildly and he searched around for those he would need to protect.
Those he would die for.
and it's not by fire but what's forged in flame
can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain
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