Shadow Mountain i had walked my entire life as a dead man

winter's wake moved in beautiful grace, transfixing lestan as usual. a shy smile came to life on his mouth, his lashes shuttering the honeyblue of his eyes for a composing moment. "yes."
where there was loveliness there existed also power, a feral awareness that the winterman might easily tear him limb from limb if lestan did not find his own strength.
something — pleasant in that idea of surrender.
the loss of that deerbone talisman thudded hard in his chest, but as he looked now upon the amused black eyes, he knew that face would be able to replace what the witch had taken.
tracing the silken set of each hair, lestan snared himself in the dark gemstone of winter's gaze. caught within a daringness, the mayfair lifted a crocus softly in his teeth, pretending to align it along wake's cheekbone.
the contrast was so magnificent he dropped the flower in summary fashion, an embarrassed little chuckle living in his throat. "a winter's flower for a springtime heart."