morozko
and all our footprints in the snow.
Heat drove him north, seeking relief further into the mountains than he would normally roam. Even in the relatively temperate parts of his new home, the summer seemed to him a physical thing — a beast with a weight to it, a heat that pushed down on him. His blood felt thick, his lungs full, his head slow - surely that was why he’d accepted Rannveig’s proposal that he act as Warden. Had he been in his right mind, he would have said no.
He should have said no. That became clearer to him with each yard he picked his way into the pass. He’d come to keep an eye on her, not to serve her or the will of her new goddess. And Silrus and Aecanos - what would they think, to hear he’d abandoned Glacies to take up the cause of Vespera? Morozko had been no saint (had not, truth be told, been particularly devout at all), but he would not so easily worship another. Rannveig had his loyalty. As for the rest of it…
The unicorn snorted, pushing the thoughts away. But they were no flies, to be so easily thwarted; like wolves in winter they would worry at him until he had an answer. For now he could only find solace in his climb, in the careful placement of each hoof, in the blessedly cold breeze that rushed down at him from on top of the mountain, tousling his slowly lengthening mane and whispering savage things in his ear.
Morozko was not sure where he was going - just that he wanted to be far enough to think with a clear head.
His first thought when he saw the stallion was that he had climbed too high, where the air was too thin. Surely that was the only explanation for the figure before him: dark as pitch, a shadow among the shadows of the mountainside, with a muzzle red as blood and his wings a great penumbra.
His second thought was that Heimsterra had sent him - sent him to check up on Morozko. To make sure he was doing his duty. It stirred guilt low in his belly, guilt and a kind of distant anger at his own brittle honor, and the dappled stallion pressed forward up the trail until he stood before the man. For a long moment he was silent, lips pressed in a firm line even as he nodded, horn dropping in a gesture of greeting and respect. The wind was stronger, here toward the top; it wasn’t far from a howl. Over it, Morozko spoke. “Polunin. What brings you so far from home?”
@Polunin eyyyyy
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