with each love i cut loose i was never the same
The tundra stretches out in every direction, a glassy ocean of frost and shadow that crunches beneath her boots with every step. Halo’s wind doesn’t just bite—it gnaws, creeping through seams in her coat no matter how tightly she’s cinched the fur-lined hood. Her breath comes out in plumes, curling pale and fleeting into the blue-white sky. Somewhere behind her, the Citadel’s towers are already blurring into the haze of distance, shrinking until they’re just a suggestion on the horizon.
Spice rides the air currents above her like a dart of living snow, wings flickering quick and white against the frozen sprawl. The little dragon’s chittering filters down through the wind, sharp and musical, a sound halfway between greeting and warning. Flora squints upward automatically, following the sound but catching only the flash of her companion’s tail—and, faintly, the shifting silhouette of something larger in the sky.
She tucks her gloved hands deeper into her pockets and keeps walking, the Sugartide a hazy outline ahead where the tundra begins to slope. "If it’s trouble, you can scare it off," she calls up to Spice, voice muffled by the scarf wound high over her cheeks. The little dragon chirps again, sharper this time, and Flora grins into the wool, comforted by the sound even as her pace quickens.
The wind shifts, bringing with it the scent of salt from far-off waters and the faint creak of her skyship’s moorings, a promise of warmth and home waiting just ahead. Whatever Spice has seen in the sky, Flora decides, it can keep its distance—she’s got no interest in tangling with Halo’s brand of wildlife today.
Spice rides the air currents above her like a dart of living snow, wings flickering quick and white against the frozen sprawl. The little dragon’s chittering filters down through the wind, sharp and musical, a sound halfway between greeting and warning. Flora squints upward automatically, following the sound but catching only the flash of her companion’s tail—and, faintly, the shifting silhouette of something larger in the sky.
She tucks her gloved hands deeper into her pockets and keeps walking, the Sugartide a hazy outline ahead where the tundra begins to slope. "If it’s trouble, you can scare it off," she calls up to Spice, voice muffled by the scarf wound high over her cheeks. The little dragon chirps again, sharper this time, and Flora grins into the wool, comforted by the sound even as her pace quickens.
The wind shifts, bringing with it the scent of salt from far-off waters and the faint creak of her skyship’s moorings, a promise of warmth and home waiting just ahead. Whatever Spice has seen in the sky, Flora decides, it can keep its distance—she’s got no interest in tangling with Halo’s brand of wildlife today.
