Post by Cardan on Mar 12, 2019 7:26:17 GMT -6
Cardan found that he detested the winter.
In the spring, there were leafy trees bursting with blooms for him to rest beneath, delicate petals drifting down on the cool breeze to catch in tufts of his dark fur, until he appeared much like some slumbering forest creature sprouted straight from the earth. In the summer, there were ponds of lukewarm water for him to submerge himself in and cool off, and balmy nights with the fields lit by fireflies and the trees singing with cicadas. In the fall, the leaves were a vivid kaleidoscope of rich hues that captivated the eye, and the air was just cool enough to be comfortable, the scent of it crisp. But the winter…it was bitterly cold, the world was ugly and barren, the prey was scarce, and Cardan was grumpy.
The Kenai brute found himself perched at the edge of a pool within Kamari, staring broodingly down at the thick layer of ice that rested upon the surface. He imagined that during the other seasons, the little grotto would be quite lovely, a sight he would have quite enjoyed seeing. But now, there was only withered vines, the yawning entrance of a dark cavern behind him, and the occasional glimmer of a near-dormant fish far beneath the ice, taunting him thoroughly. He sighed, and his breath puffed out in a cloud before him, momentarily heating the fur around his snout before it faded into the mist.
If Baeron had been there, he would have sneered at Cardan for his melancholy sulking before giving him something to truly lament over. But Baeron was not there, would not ever be there again if Cardan could help it, and it was a reminder that stole the breath from his lungs, as it always did. It had only been a few moons since he’d left his brother in the dead of night and struck out on his own. Sometimes Cardan dreamed of Baeron’s anger when he awoke to find Cardan gone; sometimes he imagined that the occasional thunderstorm that rolled in on the horizon was the physical embodiment of Baeron’s fury, having taken physical form and risen to devour the earth until it found him.
Silly thoughts, for a silly boy – not a near-grown wolf. He shook his head as if to clear them, and gazed down again at the ice, though this time not through it. He was greeted by the faint reflection of himself in a spot he’d brushed the snow from, his form as dark as shadows, save for his sole silver eye which shone like molten liquid, sharply contrasted by the ebony around it. ”The eye of a changeling,” his mother had contemptuously informed him once, her own twisted version of a bedtime story that Cardan was not quite certain she’d made up. ”A fae whelp, left in place of a normal pup whisked away by the fairies.” Little had she known that the sting of her tale and the insidious suggestion layered beneath had faded long ago; if only he hadn’t been born of her blood. But Baeron had laughed when he’d heard it, whispering silkily, ”I wish that it were so easy to explain the mess that is you – though it certainly might account for your…disabilities, if it were true.”
”Hmph.” It was a brief, sharp noise, half-exhale as Cardan flopped further back onto his haunches, away from his own reflection. He did not care where he had come from; the gods themselves could have descended from the heaven on wisps of clouds to claim him as their own, and Cardan would have shrugged before sauntering off to better amuse himself.
A snowflake landed upon his nose at the exact moment that he inhaled, and he was jerked from his reverie as the tiny droplet sucked itself into his nostril. Yes, Cardan loathed the winter.TAG: Banshee