amaroq
in his own country
even Death can be kind
even Death can be kind
I
t is impossible to look at her and see a threat. She is much smaller than him, and softer-edged, and the color of malleable gold. There is a heart-shaped mark on her brow, and no horns or antlers or teeth like the ones that line his mouth. And yet she is still needling at him, glaring at him with eyes blue and cold as a winter morning. He wonders if she is one of those with hidden magic, dangerously strong. Either that, or she is mad.
Amaroq licks his teeth, the bones and shells wound in his mane chiming softly in the wind. They sound a little like laughter, but he is not smiling. He does, however, raise a brow when she mentions the cold of the morning. “I’ve found it very pleasant.”
He almost does laugh, when she says and intentions are pure. It is ridiculous, her statement - the audacity of making it, and the fact that none of the land-horses would ever call his intentions pure. The seal does not wonder at the intentions of the orca, nor the hare the wolf; one thing was made with teeth and a blood-hunger, and the other made to run.
The unicorn steps nearer, and this time when he exhales fog curls like dragon-smoke up around his muzzle. There is a glint in his eye like frost hung in a pane of glass, caught by dawn. “All I’m seeking today is to enjoy the warmth - or does the sun belong to you, too?” Amaroq continues to advance, unhurried. “And what are your intentions, mare? Or are you the only one who can ask?”
He wonders if she will retreat, or flee, or reveal her magic. And when she says ice he extends a little more of his power, so that the blades of grass at his feet begin to freeze, and the white carpet reaches toward her. It will melt in moments beneath that midday sun - at least once Amaroq has decided whether he’s in a mood to be provoked. “Not for my people,” he says.
@Elena | <3
