Porcupine Ridge seven spider eyes, for every day of the week [mtr.]

A smile; pulchritudinous, especial, concocted with ribbons of tenebrosity so very alike the divergent pools of her eyes - bewitchingly double-sided. Her svelte figurine pivoted, twisting toward him as though she was a panther, born of the snow - a blizzard; hazardous lioness, and he watched with ever-augmenting interest.

He could not quite decide if she was carved from the fathomless depths of a glacier, or from ribbons of coruscating stardust. It would be fitting, would it not, for a pair born from the constellations to be unwittingly drawn to one another? He met her gaze steadily, eyes glistening with reflections of mottled grey from the skies above - pools of serrated ice, glittering in their luminescence. Her own were just as they had always been in his memory - withstanding and resilient, yet lit with a candle of cloaked warmth. 

Aries would not have minded allowing his vision to dance dangerously along the surface of her own for seconds longer, but her lips parted and to the wind she cast him words - words, that caused his lips to quirk at the corners. A rumble of his chest signalled a chuckle, of all things, gravelly and deep. It fled his throat like a grumble of a tempestuous storm, brewing upon a monochrome horizon, but it was fleeting. Intermittent; rare.

"I had taken you to be skeptical of destiny."

Still he watched her, bathing in the strident sweeping of the wind. But when she purred his name, eyes locked upon her own with a new, vehement intensity, tongue sweeping across his incisors with titillating slowness. His options weighed heavily upon his crown, thoughts to be flipped as a coin - but he already knew his choice, for it was empyrean unto his lips. "Tundra," came the thrum of his voice, husky and low, drawled out in deliberate ardour.

A single stride sealed the distance, so that they were breathing the same air once more.