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glistening shards - Astier - December 02, 2025
tag is for reference <3
also, aw!
The sky was a bruised shade of slate, heavy and swollen, pressing down upon the peaks like a physical weight. It was the late afternoon, that grey, liminal hour where the light dies without the dignity of a sunset, simply fading into the creeping cold.also, aw!
Astier moved through the natural archway, a jagged fracture in the mountain’s spine that separated the wetlands from the hidden world beyond. The wind here was a living thing, a familiar northern gale that tore through the stone fissure with a hollow howl, pulling at his thick, white coat. To any other creature, the biting cold might have been a deterrent; to the Wraith, it felt like an old, harsh greeting.
He stepped out of the mountain’s shadow and into the bypass. Before him lay a valley sleeping under a thick blanket of winter. Even buried in snow, the land held the shape of a paradise paused; rolling hills rose like the white backs of sleeping giants, encircling a lake that lay dark and still, its edges crusted with ice. A creek cut through the plains, a black ribbon glimmering faintly against the stark whiteness.
It was a stark, breathless sort of beauty, the kind that usually offered Astier the solace of isolation. Yet, as his silver gaze swept the silent expanse, a phantom ache settled in his chest, sharp and sudden. @Siofra Hawthorne. The name rose unbidden, a splinter in his disciplined mind. It had been some time since their paths had crossed, yet her memory clung to him with the persistence of the frost. He found himself wondering, with a rare and dangerous distractibility, if she was looking up at this same heavy sky. He wondered if the silence of this valley would feel less oppressive if her stride were matched to his own.
He shook his head, a minute, sharp motion to clear the thought, physically shaking the snow from his ruff. Focus returning, he noted the jagged scar to the east where the earth had given way, a landslide that had littered the edge of the valley with broken rock and debris. The air smelled of metallic static and ice; the clouds above were holding their breath, ready to break.
The Wraith moved forward, his pale silhouette blending like a ghost into the greyscale landscape. He did not rush. His gait was measured, his paws making no sound as he skirted the edge of a small, skeletal woodland. He was a speck of winter moving through winter, searching the silence for a pulse of life, trying to outwalk the memory of a woman he had not realized he would miss this much.