by Feint » 06/21/2008 1:01 AM
Saru scampered eagerly behind Constance, big eyes focused on the back of her head as she effortlessly glided down the hall, then to her banister. He was getting excited and urged his little-used legs to run faster, but he was still painfully slow. A subtle movement barely caught his eye, but it was the odd creaking noise that stopped him in his tracks. Saru panted and eyed the shadows, seeing nothing but a gut instinct told him something was there. He didn't like that creaking sound--it was too different from a door or wood, and too elevated to be the floor. Saru shivered for a second, then, as Saru does, became brave on the point of stupidity. He flicked his firey tail in front of his face and edged up sideways to the shadows where he could not see, glaring at the darkest points as the smaller shadows vanished. His tail-fire was not outstandingly bright, but it was just enough to make a silhouette once he was close.
My wraiths, though not wraiths then, wandered deep into the heart of the polar storm. They tried to fight sleep, naive to the inevitability of their fate. When they awoke, they saw before them my own self, so much a part of the ice and cold they almost fail to see me. I wear a crown of the coldest, sturdiest ice, and my claws and fur have coated themselves in it.
I stand aloof to the cold, for I have lived in it so long, been a part of it so long, it no longer concerns me.
My wraiths are cursed to wander the polar tundra, eternally freezing, following mortal explorers and trying to warn them with their presence that they should not travel onward, should not make the same mistake. But there will always be those who persist in pressing on, never knowing what they are doomed to face, or destined to suffer.