Shadow Mountain Wire

he could not answer! lestan's crown, thrown in shadow and then made sunlit. gilt against wintertide and then winter's wake laughing.
all at once the mayfair knew that his leaders would not be able to contain this man, this man with his devilish glinting and his highflung aspiration, his farsight, and the almost preternatural cunning which might be only offered by the scandalously ambitious.
"i think it is beautiful," lestan said without meandering, though he did not see the allusion to self; not yet.
not yet. "y-you would not be happy there, not if — not if this m-mountain is what your heart w-wants," and the mayfair was going to stuttered pieces again.
he glanced around, down into the valley and then up toward the blacksnake eyes of this stunning creature who had come from nowhere to proclaim for him; for him.
no poker face would ever belong to lestan, whose eyes plainly telegraphed a desperate desire to know what winter's wake wanted with him, and hoping — his heart raced. "you should be h-here."