Belgarath is feeling restless tonight. The winter gets him all riled up; like calls to like and the ice in his bones feels like it wants to pop out of his freaking skin and join the outside world. It lingers with him, often for weeks after the last snowflake has melted and the frost only comes in the night. So he plays with it to alleviate the itchiness, shooting ice darts and ice clouds at birds until they eventually learn to avoid him. More than a few fell dead to the forest floor, though. Birdbrains. That’s what a steep learning curve will do. Birds aren’t the only ones with steep learning curves, though. Sometimes little girls have that problem too.
The area around Bel can only be described as a winter wonderland. Spring starts up abruptly again outside of a certain circumference, but inside his little world, it is all ice and crystals and is almost just as sparkly as the little girl that wanders unexpectedly towards him. A heavy limb cracks under the weight of icicles hanging from its underside, and falls to the ground with a resounding crash, sending shards of ice everywhere, and echoing throughout the forest.
Belgarath smiles deviously. Goddamn, that’s a beautiful sound. Music to his ears.
belgarath
