04-22-2016, 02:49 PM
BROTHER, LET ME BE YOUR FORTRESS, WHEN THE NIGHT WINDS ARE DRIVING ON.
I CAN BE THE ONE TO LIGHT YOUR WAY; I WILL BRING YOU HOME.
The bare edges of autumn were beginning to give way to the icy embrace of winter, which was dawning upon the permafrost-encased terrain yet again. The evening had been saturated with a thick icy chill that only their frigid climate obtained, enveloping every last remaining living plant in a layer of frost, obliterating any semblance of life that still remained at their roots.
Yet, as uncomfortable and bristling as it was, Offspring felt comfort in the onslaught of winter's approach. He savored the ice and snow and reveled in its beauty, its caress and its biting numbness. He, himself, was now the essence of ice - constantly covered in miniature icicles that seep from his pores; always covered in a thin layer of frost over his scarred obsidian pelt. Ice was as much a part of him as the land itself was, and though he suspected it would one day fade away from him, it drew him to languish in its soothing frigidity as long as he would be able to.
Now, as the bleak rays of sunlight begins to peek over the horizon and slice through the quiet, frozen clutches of dusk, a new day arrives and the frost covering the dried brush and soil glisten brightly beneath its light. Soon, the land comes alive with movement, stirring as youth begin to lope across its icy terrain with boundless energy, shifting as his Brothers and their many females began to socialize and flex their stiff muscles beneath the pale morning light.
A new day has come, but as the blackened King observes those across the flatland, something curious catches his dark crimson gaze. He observes as it scurries across the still dusty plain; stark white against the backdrop (the first layer of snow has not yet fallen, but the heavy, looming clouds overhead threaten it will come soon). He descends from his perch, thick muscles rippling beneath his marred coat as he lumbers along the ice wall, his flesh encasing itself in a thicker layer of frost as he holds himself so close to the land's icy boundary line. He follows this fleeting creature, knowing very well that it was not any simple arctic fox - no, it was a very particular arctic fox - one that had been evading company for some time.
He follows quietly, his hefty weight pressing deep prints into the moist soil atop the permafrost, but he is careful not to step directly over any dried twigs or twine. He pauses as the delicate, graceful creature morphs into something entirely equine, a dun pintaloosa he remembered from many, many decades ago. Ianto had been King for some time, this he knew - though he himself had been a wanderer for years, he had kept up with the politics of the many lands - but had been quiet since, and now, there was ample opportunity to learn more of the former King.
Gently, he clears his throat - a deep, warm baritone rumbling out from chest, his dark red eyes set on the winged stallion before him with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his whiskered lips.
"Ianto, you are very difficult to track - but I am glad to finally have the opportunity to meet you face to face. My name is Offspring, but you might already know that."
Yet, as uncomfortable and bristling as it was, Offspring felt comfort in the onslaught of winter's approach. He savored the ice and snow and reveled in its beauty, its caress and its biting numbness. He, himself, was now the essence of ice - constantly covered in miniature icicles that seep from his pores; always covered in a thin layer of frost over his scarred obsidian pelt. Ice was as much a part of him as the land itself was, and though he suspected it would one day fade away from him, it drew him to languish in its soothing frigidity as long as he would be able to.
Now, as the bleak rays of sunlight begins to peek over the horizon and slice through the quiet, frozen clutches of dusk, a new day arrives and the frost covering the dried brush and soil glisten brightly beneath its light. Soon, the land comes alive with movement, stirring as youth begin to lope across its icy terrain with boundless energy, shifting as his Brothers and their many females began to socialize and flex their stiff muscles beneath the pale morning light.
A new day has come, but as the blackened King observes those across the flatland, something curious catches his dark crimson gaze. He observes as it scurries across the still dusty plain; stark white against the backdrop (the first layer of snow has not yet fallen, but the heavy, looming clouds overhead threaten it will come soon). He descends from his perch, thick muscles rippling beneath his marred coat as he lumbers along the ice wall, his flesh encasing itself in a thicker layer of frost as he holds himself so close to the land's icy boundary line. He follows this fleeting creature, knowing very well that it was not any simple arctic fox - no, it was a very particular arctic fox - one that had been evading company for some time.
He follows quietly, his hefty weight pressing deep prints into the moist soil atop the permafrost, but he is careful not to step directly over any dried twigs or twine. He pauses as the delicate, graceful creature morphs into something entirely equine, a dun pintaloosa he remembered from many, many decades ago. Ianto had been King for some time, this he knew - though he himself had been a wanderer for years, he had kept up with the politics of the many lands - but had been quiet since, and now, there was ample opportunity to learn more of the former King.
Gently, he clears his throat - a deep, warm baritone rumbling out from chest, his dark red eyes set on the winged stallion before him with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his whiskered lips.
"Ianto, you are very difficult to track - but I am glad to finally have the opportunity to meet you face to face. My name is Offspring, but you might already know that."
OFFSPRING
the ice king of the tundra
