Desreal: and to the glowworm, Cyan; --

horse stock by colourize @ deviantArt ; photomanipulation by Lore

“ Death is the only god that comes when you call. ”
- Roger Zelazny

No, not Kurai, the wind sighs dramatically; and with it, of course, comes the winter.

My winter. My beautiful, seasonless winter, all whites and grays and ice and snow. It curls around me, us, with a relentless, blind rage – cold and delicious. I love the winter, the Fimbulvetr, the beginning of the end. it’s highly symbolic, see, but hardly what it must; not yet.

It croaks, though, deciding amusedly for an old crone’s voice, stolen no doubt from somewhere – someone – else.

Even if the words don’t fit.

I know him though, it hisses-murmurs, breaking like a glacier as I step into the light. He is beautiful, Cyan, the way Kurai is beautiful: all sleekness and strength and a hint of the grotesque, though it’s not as visible in this one. I don’t mind it; I like my men – hah, as if – like this. Almost a tragic beauty, because you know it won’t end well. Like Stelios.

Oh, I know him, alright. I have eyes everywhere, after all. It’s one of the benefits of an enormous family – and one deep into the clutches of espionage.

This one, however, glows.

He is a friend of mine. As much a friend to him as one can be, anyway.

Mm, shiny.

Insert shrug.

You looking for him? You might not find him. He’s probably out hunting. What, I don’t know, but it would be like him. I don’t mention that I’m here for him, too. That I, for once, need his services – well, not quite, see, but I’d love it if he wanted to help. Who knows, maybe I can even offer him a kind of reward.

Mm, rewards.

Sounds like tasty.

FENRISULFR
an axe age, a sword age, shields will be cloven;
a wind age, a wolf age, ere the world sinks.