11-26-2018, 10:14 PM
She says nothing more to him, even as he pushes forward and walks adjacent to her instead of behind. Together, they face the brunt of the storm with their eyes nearly shut in defense. Her forelock was freely whipping side to side, but has since stiffened from the freezing blizzard. Ice frosts her every inch. The hot breath spiraling from her nostrils helps to crystallize the whiskers as she presses on, utilizing every ounce of strength she can muster to scale the snow drifts and ledges. An occasional touch is all she provides Santana, a silent confirmation that he is still there, as is she. It was foolhardy to do this. The extreme demands of this quest are exhausting to her young body, but it doesn’t stop her.
Once her mind is set, nothing can stop her.
A low grumble rises from her throat as Valdis reaches the edge of the pond with Santana remaining at her side. It’s only now, when there is a new obstacle facing them, that she realizes the storm’s conclusion. Everything is still whitewashed, vague even, but the deep blue-black of the water remains a heavy contrast that grabs and holds her attention. Prepared to plunge into the water and retrieve the icicle, Valdis is suddenly taken aback by Santana seizing the opportunity. With an air of humor twisted in his words, he elicits a smile from her before it flickers away in her concentration.
Santana retrieves the icicle but returns to the tree for a branch. Understanding – almost as though they are of similar minds – she steps forward and lowers her muzzle to the ice. It threatens to cling to her skin as she gingerly rolls it along the snowy bed. As she predicted, the snow embraces the ice and hugs onto it until blanketing it like a cocoon. By the time she finishes, Santana is returning and nudging the branch underneath the snow-encrusted icicle. With a nod, the two of them grab onto the ends of the branch to lift their prized possession.
So begins their troublesome return to the Mountain.
The water greets them in the same manner – frigid, reckless, dangerous – but they still submerge their bodies into the tide as a single unit. During the trek to the shore, the snow hardened; it’s sandwiched between solid ice and sub-freezing temperatures. It all works well, she muses, as the water bites at her skin, threatening to immobilize her and drag her into its dark depths. A periodic glance determines Santana’s stamina, gauging how he is faring while she, too, struggles under the immense pressure of the assignment and the wintry elements. Still, throughout this entire time, she remains silent as to keep all energy to herself, all her air going unwasted by conversation.
There’s an urgency in their step when they’ve reached the mainland. With nothing more than branches and twigs as a small sled for their ice, their time is ticking. The snow encasing the ice threatens to melt and so they take direct paths across Taiga, Nerine, and Hyaline. There are minimal breaks, pausing only to allow their jaws to relax from so long having clenched on a branch. Both of them know, however, that they are pressed for time.
Droplets trail behind them as the snow melts, opening the icicle to its looming demise.
By the time they’ve returned to the Mountain, the icicle is only slightly receded. Valdis peers down at it once they’ve placed it and its bed of twigs on the ground. Her lungs are screaming, frost coating the edges of her hair, and her muscles are groaning painfully. So tired, she almost mutters to Santana, but she refuses to expose her exhaustion and, in turn, weakness. Straightening up, she meets his eyes with a smug grin across her lips. ”Good job,” she finally whispers, the first spoken words from her in hours.
Once her mind is set, nothing can stop her.
A low grumble rises from her throat as Valdis reaches the edge of the pond with Santana remaining at her side. It’s only now, when there is a new obstacle facing them, that she realizes the storm’s conclusion. Everything is still whitewashed, vague even, but the deep blue-black of the water remains a heavy contrast that grabs and holds her attention. Prepared to plunge into the water and retrieve the icicle, Valdis is suddenly taken aback by Santana seizing the opportunity. With an air of humor twisted in his words, he elicits a smile from her before it flickers away in her concentration.
Santana retrieves the icicle but returns to the tree for a branch. Understanding – almost as though they are of similar minds – she steps forward and lowers her muzzle to the ice. It threatens to cling to her skin as she gingerly rolls it along the snowy bed. As she predicted, the snow embraces the ice and hugs onto it until blanketing it like a cocoon. By the time she finishes, Santana is returning and nudging the branch underneath the snow-encrusted icicle. With a nod, the two of them grab onto the ends of the branch to lift their prized possession.
So begins their troublesome return to the Mountain.
The water greets them in the same manner – frigid, reckless, dangerous – but they still submerge their bodies into the tide as a single unit. During the trek to the shore, the snow hardened; it’s sandwiched between solid ice and sub-freezing temperatures. It all works well, she muses, as the water bites at her skin, threatening to immobilize her and drag her into its dark depths. A periodic glance determines Santana’s stamina, gauging how he is faring while she, too, struggles under the immense pressure of the assignment and the wintry elements. Still, throughout this entire time, she remains silent as to keep all energy to herself, all her air going unwasted by conversation.
There’s an urgency in their step when they’ve reached the mainland. With nothing more than branches and twigs as a small sled for their ice, their time is ticking. The snow encasing the ice threatens to melt and so they take direct paths across Taiga, Nerine, and Hyaline. There are minimal breaks, pausing only to allow their jaws to relax from so long having clenched on a branch. Both of them know, however, that they are pressed for time.
Droplets trail behind them as the snow melts, opening the icicle to its looming demise.
By the time they’ve returned to the Mountain, the icicle is only slightly receded. Valdis peers down at it once they’ve placed it and its bed of twigs on the ground. Her lungs are screaming, frost coating the edges of her hair, and her muscles are groaning painfully. So tired, she almost mutters to Santana, but she refuses to expose her exhaustion and, in turn, weakness. Straightening up, she meets his eyes with a smug grin across her lips. ”Good job,” she finally whispers, the first spoken words from her in hours.