Noah
if there's a reason I'm still alive
when so many have died
when so many have died
Dusk settled slowly over Halo, pale sunlight draining from the snow until the world became a quiet wash of blue and silver. The sky hung clear and brittle overhead, the kind that promised a harder freeze once the sun vanished completely, and the cold would have teeth that night, Noah could tell. A pile of dead brush waited a short distance from the lodge. A huge pile of branches he had spent the afternoon hauling away from the treeline and the path leading back toward the Citadel. Storms had a way of snapping limbs and leaving tangles everywhere, and if he didn’t clear it now, it would only become worse when the deep snows came.
Noah rolled his shoulders once, loosening the lingering ache from the work, and stepped closer to the pile. A breath later his form shifted, feathers rippling outward in a flash of pale silver and white and dark iron as the griffin took his place. The cold barely touched him like this. He lowered his head, opened his maw, and exhaled. Flame spilled forward in a brief, controlled rush. It caught quickly on the driest twigs, orange light blooming against the snow before climbing into the thicker branches beneath. The heat that followed, was welcome, pushing back the bitter air as sparks lifted and twisted upward into the darkening sky.
Noah shifted back, boots crunching in the frost as he stepped toward the growing fire. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, watching the flames take hold, listening to the quiet crack and snap of burning wood. The firelight flickered against the lodge behind him and painted the snow in warm gold, a small defiance against the endless cold of Halo’s night.
Noah rolled his shoulders once, loosening the lingering ache from the work, and stepped closer to the pile. A breath later his form shifted, feathers rippling outward in a flash of pale silver and white and dark iron as the griffin took his place. The cold barely touched him like this. He lowered his head, opened his maw, and exhaled. Flame spilled forward in a brief, controlled rush. It caught quickly on the driest twigs, orange light blooming against the snow before climbing into the thicker branches beneath. The heat that followed, was welcome, pushing back the bitter air as sparks lifted and twisted upward into the darkening sky.
Noah shifted back, boots crunching in the frost as he stepped toward the growing fire. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, watching the flames take hold, listening to the quiet crack and snap of burning wood. The firelight flickered against the lodge behind him and painted the snow in warm gold, a small defiance against the endless cold of Halo’s night.
then I'm willing to
wait for it
wait for it
