09-30-2015, 07:12 PM
Snow swirls around him in wild disarray as he wades through knee-deep drifts, keeping within seeing distance of the massive ice wall that looms around the kingdom. The imposing structure stands sentinel against those that might wish to trespass upon the kingdom. He is eternally grateful that the wall stands to discourage such foolhardy trespassers. He is only one man, and patrolling an entire kingdom without that icy help would be taxing. Granted, some might be able to fly above, but they would be foolish to do so in this storm. And when the weather is clear, Hurricane is found in the skies far more often than the ground, so as to guard against such intruders. It offers an infinitely better advantage than does patrolling by foot.
But today he must, for he is grounded just was truly as any other winged creature. Unfortunately, winter in the Tundra is a harsh time. The snow is near constant, the wind an ever-present foe. But many had been daring their harsh clime this winter. It seems word had spread rather quickly of their leaderless state. He has every intention of remedying that before someone tries to take advantage.
He is nearing the single opening in the wall, an opening large enough to fit only a few horses through at a single time. As he nears, he sees a dark figure standing stoically on the other side, waiting for one of the brotherhood to notice him. Hurricane obliges him, slipping through the swirling snows to confront the visitor.
Another horse is their however, one with claws that sink into the snow, clutching at the icy ground as he walks. And as he reaches the black stallion, he speaks, welcoming him to the tundra, adding a rasping inquiry as to his intentions. Hurricane’s dark gaze turns flinty, fixing on the presumptuous creature.
As he steps forward, his body seems to materialize from the surrounding landscape, his pale coat and frosty wings blending almost perfectly with the frozen earth. His voice, when he speaks, is hard, as chilly as the land he calls home.
You are not of the brotherhood. What right do you have to offer its association to anyone?
But today he must, for he is grounded just was truly as any other winged creature. Unfortunately, winter in the Tundra is a harsh time. The snow is near constant, the wind an ever-present foe. But many had been daring their harsh clime this winter. It seems word had spread rather quickly of their leaderless state. He has every intention of remedying that before someone tries to take advantage.
He is nearing the single opening in the wall, an opening large enough to fit only a few horses through at a single time. As he nears, he sees a dark figure standing stoically on the other side, waiting for one of the brotherhood to notice him. Hurricane obliges him, slipping through the swirling snows to confront the visitor.
Another horse is their however, one with claws that sink into the snow, clutching at the icy ground as he walks. And as he reaches the black stallion, he speaks, welcoming him to the tundra, adding a rasping inquiry as to his intentions. Hurricane’s dark gaze turns flinty, fixing on the presumptuous creature.
As he steps forward, his body seems to materialize from the surrounding landscape, his pale coat and frosty wings blending almost perfectly with the frozen earth. His voice, when he speaks, is hard, as chilly as the land he calls home.
You are not of the brotherhood. What right do you have to offer its association to anyone?
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane