The raven wheeled above the leafless branches, blue eyes sharp and hard as he sought prey far below. He wasn't hungry - hadn't been hungry for weeks now, each day bringing less and less appetite - but there was something intensely satisfying about the crack of bone and scent of blood in the air, watching the light fade from panicked eyes of mice and rabbits and smaller birds. Once the thought had been repugnant to him, but now... Now he couldn't remember why he had ever cared.
The movement that caught his eye was russet-orange, bright against the snow. A fox trotted away, carrying something red and green and gold in its mouth. Though he idly considered dropping down and trying to take whatever it was away from the creature, the raven's attention was drawn to the direction the fox had come from. Angling his wings he skimmed down, dipping through the skeletal fingers that stretched to the sky in endless supplication and backwinging to a halt as he found a garden growing bright and lush in the middle of Deepfrost.
It was a beautiful curiosity, a miracle of winter. The roses were gorgeous, bursting with life and vitality. A vitality that the bard had found lacking in himself for far too long now. The unnatural plants were not miracle so much as mockery, and the raven hissed as he dropped from his branch to tear apart the first one he found, shredding the petals with sharp talons and then turning his beak to savaging the stem, the hard bone of it impervious to the golden thorns. He sat panting on the snow when his frenzy subsided, but a field of the plants remained to mock him still and he let out a pained, angry cry, knowing that he lacked the strength to destroy them all.
He flung himself skyward once more, impotent rage not truly burned out but merely banked as he strove to put distance between himself and the damned garden. He might not be able to destroy all the roses here, but if I found them elsewhere...
Now, where did that meddling fox get off to?
The movement that caught his eye was russet-orange, bright against the snow. A fox trotted away, carrying something red and green and gold in its mouth. Though he idly considered dropping down and trying to take whatever it was away from the creature, the raven's attention was drawn to the direction the fox had come from. Angling his wings he skimmed down, dipping through the skeletal fingers that stretched to the sky in endless supplication and backwinging to a halt as he found a garden growing bright and lush in the middle of Deepfrost.
It was a beautiful curiosity, a miracle of winter. The roses were gorgeous, bursting with life and vitality. A vitality that the bard had found lacking in himself for far too long now. The unnatural plants were not miracle so much as mockery, and the raven hissed as he dropped from his branch to tear apart the first one he found, shredding the petals with sharp talons and then turning his beak to savaging the stem, the hard bone of it impervious to the golden thorns. He sat panting on the snow when his frenzy subsided, but a field of the plants remained to mock him still and he let out a pained, angry cry, knowing that he lacked the strength to destroy them all.
He flung himself skyward once more, impotent rage not truly burned out but merely banked as he strove to put distance between himself and the damned garden. He might not be able to destroy all the roses here, but if I found them elsewhere...
Now, where did that meddling fox get off to?
