#blue hound

The Fields of Theama call for you. In their crystal city of ice, the reflections of things familiar and unfamiliar will rise to greet you like an old friend. Venture inwards and listen to your soul. You must brave the maze and return with something from your own world. Reach into the looking glass, abandoning riches and temptations. What you pull out will be your own, and only your own. 

The labyrinth twinkled like a fairy tale. Ice tapping against ice to the tune of the breeze, the vegetation leaning in dance, all on a display before the two heroes--the King and his guard. 

She’s surprised, and yet she absolutely isn’t—one day with the shithead that he spent half of which unconscious and if she knows one thing about Cú Chulainn, it’s that he can give her recklessness a run for its money.

“Here,” Sasume scowls at him, dropping a large bundle at the Lancer’s bedside with numerous held-back retorts on her tongue. “Blue and white, like you asked. Had to throw in blacks and dark browns, but still,” she blows air out of her nose. “Two outfits, and there’s a heavy coat underneath.”

Now don’t fucking leave without clothes like it’s a fucking beach, she could say, or just about anything else regarding the apparent need to fucking babysit him.

But Dogma not so subtly judging them from the corner of the Warmhouse has her swallowing back most of her words; he (probably) has no idea what happened, after all, and she’ll be damned if she’s the one who gives him reason to ask.

Especially since hearing of Cú’s idiocy would likely have Dogma quipping about hers, and fuck if she doesn’t need that spread.

So she ignores the priest for now, instead tugging the privacy curtain around Cu’s bed out a little over halfway; if he doesn’t want to change right now, fine, but she’d rather he stay fucking covered if he does.

He felt oddly at home here. The cold settled upon him, and yet he felt no aversion to it, and he could even go as far as to say that it comforted him. He was an anomaly, more than usual, in this village of heathens. But...he was meant to be here, he knew. A mouthpiece for the word of God in a place where He was unknown; an overseer to guide these sinners to their salvation. He understood that there was a purpose for him here, and it was only a matter of establishing himself well enough to begin his work. At least, until he found a way for this snow to show him what he sought most of all...

Well kiddo. I guess you messed up this year.

She enjoys the woods, and always has. Even now, in the frigid cold that limits the time she can spend in the Silvermoss Forest, she still enjoys the subtle scent of bark and greenery and the subtle sounds of small wildlife and wind through the branches.

It’s peaceful, and—

“SON OF A FUCK—!“ Sasume crows, pivoting around the trunk of a tree and flinching when it shakes viciously with the force from the boar. She doesn’t wait, already launching herself forward with boots slamming into the detestable, infuriating snow.

Fuck, if only her sword worked: she could clear a free path or trap the boar if not roast the thing and get away with ease regardless of how she fucking did it.

But no, the overgrown pig is still charging after them like a bat out of hell, and fuck if she wouldn’t yank the jackass back by his rat-tail if not for the fucking beast he got after them.

(...It’s still tempting, really, but she’ll save it for when being gored isn’t an imminent threat. Fucker, the pitchfork was bad enough!)