Firefly Glen i am flesh and i am bone

Somewhere deep in the cavities of his chest, a breath was drawn - sharp and slick, the cursed arrow to pierce through a glacial throat. It was with utter silence that he regarded her; this Tundra. While his arrogance provided a comfort in his feigned knowledge, the world had, undoubtedly, surprised him. This pale shield-maiden was an anomaly, and the internal instincts that drove his systems battled fathomlessly over the desire both to destroy or nurture this oddity in his thoughts.

Aries' gelid stare counted the luminiferous dots in her eyes, where the fireflies' glow was reflected in the pools of her iron gaze. What was it about this woman that startled him so, that drove his mind to a whirlwind, in all her solemn sincerity? 

She spoke his name, and he discovered it to appear far more tempestuous from her lips, far more divine, in all its icy glory. He wanted to crush this beneath his foot, stamp it into the cavernous mouth of the earth where it would melt into oblivion, out of sight, out of mind - and yet, it was too sapid upon his tongue, that to release it felt a greater sin than to cherish it. This empyrean trophy. The Svartell did not doubt his abilities to take as he desired, but how could he achieve this, if what he desired, he could not comprehend? What did he want? Why from this woman?

Destroy it.

But it was then, amongst this rare inner-turmoil, that he felt the slither of her body so lightly against his own - a feather's touch, from a steel soldier; a single shiver threatened to prod at his spine like acapuncture needles, but he fought it, resisting too the urge to suck in a slice of air into his frosted jaws. In that moment, it was true - he felt her, perhaps more than he had ever felt anything in his entire existence. It was this untameable flame, ravenous in its hunger, inestimable in its reach. He felt it clamber through his stomach, his lungs, his throat, but then a muscle seemed to twitch invisibly upon his skull, forcing everything down into the pits of his bones where they should not see the light. It was a perilous risk, accepting her presence, but a snatch of him was tired of fighting, and wanted to simply release himself to the game, to test what, amongst it all, was within his grip. 

Resist.

It was the question which allowed him to steady his pacing blood, to return as best he could to the coldness in his veins. How did she know of his time in blackfeather? Knowledge travelled, he supposed. He had never cared to mask it. The hiemal king turned this enquiry over in his thoughts like a fallen coin, contemplating in his sobriety before allowing a shimmer of himself to slip out of his jaws - an accident, almost. "To follow Nyx." Though partially he desired to leave his answer as this; clipped, short, just as he preferred, he found for once the silence unbearable. He could not trust himself. "When I left my family, she took me in. When she left the woods, I followed." That was all he could present her with, in a voice of smoke, all that she would recieve. Piece by piece.

"Perhaps one day I will return to blackfeather."