ice for horns, ice for heart;
thrice crowned o' northern winds
who stands alone at the precipice
who stands against the inevitable,
alone, the blackbark tree.
Her vision flickers. The cold crawls up her leg til she can feel it no longer. Her breath, warm and moist, freezes across her muzzle and ices over.
The snow falls, and the ice thickens. She has lost track of time, has it been but a second or has it been days? It is hard to say, but she knows this.
The sky is white and the ground is white and the only thing that spans the stark horizon is the great tree, dead as can be,
the black trunk rising into the sky, the black branches stretching into the void.
The snow falls, and the ice thickens. She has lost track of time, has it been but a second or has it been days? It is hard to say, but she knows this.
The sky is white and the ground is white and the only thing that spans the stark horizon is the great tree, dead as can be,
the black trunk rising into the sky, the black branches stretching into the void.