stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Deepfrost was a time Rory both loathed and loved: he lived for the sunlight sparkling in the hoarfrost coating every house and tree, breathed for the nights in which the stars spread out across the vast black sky, glittering and twinkling, their sharp silver glow mirrored by the unbroken snow.
His heart beat in a terrified frenzy on the deepest, darkest nights, always looking over his shoulder, fussing over the goats and ponies and dogs and his sister, counting firewood down to the smallest stick, wondering how much blood and guts he'd find strewn out across the yard once the sun rose again.
Some winters they lost no one. One particularly brutal Long Night they'd lost half the goats, and two ponies.
He'd brought Talys out today, because if he could, and his guilt didn't make him choose another, he always picked her. She was jet black and fuzzy and her breath came in white puffs around her muzzle, ice frozen on her whiskers. His breath was clouding in front of his face as well, freezing on the scarf wrapped across the lower half of his face. A warm cap, knitted by himself from the goat wool he sometimes spun, covered his head, his long braid tucked into both scarf and greatcoat. As far as the weather went it was a decent day, a little cloudy but from time to time the sun poked through.
He was headed towards the Settlement to deliver a couple of finished orders, neatly packed into the saddlebags attached to Talys's minimal saddle. And as usual, his route brought him close to the Spire; he knew how close he could go without attracting the monster's attention, and while he always kept a wary eye on it, he wasn't worried. Not at this distance.
But his expectation to peacefully pass it by, to do his business and perhaps go to the Temple to see if Ronin or Remi were there, was dashed by a snowdrift of a most suspicious shape. The wind had blown the snow over, allowing a tuft of the frozen fabric to stick up, breaking the otherwise even white cover with its lumpy shape. Frowning, Rory steered Talys over to it. She huffed in indignation, making her way through the unbroken snow rather than on the trail, and once next to it Rory deftly slid off the pony. He kept one hand on her reins, and knelt down, digging around it, tugging at the stiff and unyielding thing. Once he'd finally worked it lose, he saw that it was a bit of a torn cloak, and something turned over in his stomach. It was hard to tell with the snow and ice coating it, but the pattern and color was familiar, niggling his memory as if it had been worn by someone he'd rather recently met.
And with the proximity to the Spire...
Feeling sick and cold and worried he led Talys away towards the nearest trees, securing her with the a lead rope looped around a branch—she always wore a rope halter under the bridle whenever he went into town with her, fortunately—and then taking upon himself the fruitless task of digging through the snow, looking for more clues, all the while trying to not stray too close to the Spire. The last thing he wanted was to die, too.
[ Open for anyone! Basically just finding pieces of Wessex's stuff to figure out she ded :< ]
His heart beat in a terrified frenzy on the deepest, darkest nights, always looking over his shoulder, fussing over the goats and ponies and dogs and his sister, counting firewood down to the smallest stick, wondering how much blood and guts he'd find strewn out across the yard once the sun rose again.
Some winters they lost no one. One particularly brutal Long Night they'd lost half the goats, and two ponies.
He'd brought Talys out today, because if he could, and his guilt didn't make him choose another, he always picked her. She was jet black and fuzzy and her breath came in white puffs around her muzzle, ice frozen on her whiskers. His breath was clouding in front of his face as well, freezing on the scarf wrapped across the lower half of his face. A warm cap, knitted by himself from the goat wool he sometimes spun, covered his head, his long braid tucked into both scarf and greatcoat. As far as the weather went it was a decent day, a little cloudy but from time to time the sun poked through.
He was headed towards the Settlement to deliver a couple of finished orders, neatly packed into the saddlebags attached to Talys's minimal saddle. And as usual, his route brought him close to the Spire; he knew how close he could go without attracting the monster's attention, and while he always kept a wary eye on it, he wasn't worried. Not at this distance.
But his expectation to peacefully pass it by, to do his business and perhaps go to the Temple to see if Ronin or Remi were there, was dashed by a snowdrift of a most suspicious shape. The wind had blown the snow over, allowing a tuft of the frozen fabric to stick up, breaking the otherwise even white cover with its lumpy shape. Frowning, Rory steered Talys over to it. She huffed in indignation, making her way through the unbroken snow rather than on the trail, and once next to it Rory deftly slid off the pony. He kept one hand on her reins, and knelt down, digging around it, tugging at the stiff and unyielding thing. Once he'd finally worked it lose, he saw that it was a bit of a torn cloak, and something turned over in his stomach. It was hard to tell with the snow and ice coating it, but the pattern and color was familiar, niggling his memory as if it had been worn by someone he'd rather recently met.
And with the proximity to the Spire...
Feeling sick and cold and worried he led Talys away towards the nearest trees, securing her with the a lead rope looped around a branch—she always wore a rope halter under the bridle whenever he went into town with her, fortunately—and then taking upon himself the fruitless task of digging through the snow, looking for more clues, all the while trying to not stray too close to the Spire. The last thing he wanted was to die, too.
[ Open for anyone! Basically just finding pieces of Wessex's stuff to figure out she ded :< ]
