#wesfrid

The beast galloped on the vast plains, it would be free if not for its invisible shackles, above it, a warrior, she warmed her voice while ridding her beast, she would be free-

Cöme Fört nöble beast, we shall not falter töday.

Her cries were not meant to the woolen beast, in that empty field, the only thing that could hear her, was her.

White, Wigfrid knew the white of the winter, but she never lost anything to her, not anything meaningful, the white snow reminded her of the mime, the weakest link, never broken inside the constant.

Where one day she hunted for food, now she hunted for him, she would pray for his safety, but her Gods only dealt in blood, and today, the red of blood sickened her, what use is for the strongest if she can't protect the weakest.

She drew clouds of vapor with her breath, a second of weakness would kill her, she knew that, the winter was her first friend, her first enemy, her muse, her first death.

In truth, she did not know how long it has been, when Wes disappeared everyone assumed he would be back before the sun died, she didn't know if that was true, but she looked for him either way, maybe she wasn't looking for someone, maybe she was running away, the blood washed away everything, her worries, her mind, her fear, life in the camp was perfect, but to peaceful, no one would clap for an empty stage.

She heard a sound, a familiar grunt, another beast lived in the winter, a partner for her dance, a giant monster of cold and snow, a cortless king, a singer with no audience.

But there was an audience, muffled by snow a wind another familiar sound screamed silently across the field, the sound of a broken whistle.

There was only one thing that could make that sound, and ironically, the one holding it was the one who couldn't make a sound, she found him, but she hasn't the first.

White, the blighted white demon, horned aberration of one eye, shrouded by ice and snow, a Cyclops, a Deer a Deerclops, she made icicles on with every step, he broke the woods and clouds with his horns, nothing could survive its wrath, that was nature incarnate, the will for stillness, no man woman or robot can survive death, a mime could do nothing, as Wes watched silently at his own fate, he knew nothing could save him.

White, her vision blackened in white death, she saw the bleeding mime - her companion, on the ground, against a giant that embodied death, white death that accompanied her, silent howling winds of her homeland, a survivor and a beast, the lines thinning at each passing moment.

She jumped from her mount, the beefalo was raised for speed, but she was raised for death, stabbing her spear into its heart was enough to get its attention, but only that, before it could react the Valkyrie screamed, her voice as loud as a war bugle, and she demanded for one thing, war, enough to get the monsters' attention, from the mime, wile her spear was still stuck on its chest she had another one in hands.

Wigfrid charged into the monster, ignoring the apparent danger she moved between its legs, making the cold gaze of death further itself from the mime, when she turned to look at him, she was relieved, his bloody visage scared her, but he was ok, he was alive, he was-

The monster care little for the heart-warming reunion, with a flick of its wrist it sends a mountain of ice spikes towards the warrior, but she answered the same, slowly leading them further from Wes, guiding one of them to their grave.

The giant overshadowed the warrior, but one of them had died a thousand time for the other, and the other remembered every death, The deerclops raised its hand and once again turned the ground into a forest of ice spikes, a spirit of destruction that lived to kill and die, Wigfrid evaded the attack and slowly sawed its legs, it wasn't perfect, many of the spikes were tainted in bloody red, but she didn't falter, even bloodied and bruised she didn't stop, the giant could not survive, but it did.

When the giant feel to its knees, Wes was relived, it was only a thing, a living thing that could die and be killed, but the Gods rejected that notion, when the giant feel it brought its horns to the ground on top of the warrior, sending her flying to a nearby tree, the sound of broken wood muffled the sound of broken bones-

It was useless.

He thought.

Nothing could fight against nature.

He was right, and nature would prove him so, the giant approached her savior, another death on his name, a prophetized death, trying to meddle in the will of the Gods could only cause death.

There was nothing he could do, his body was weak, his mind was weak, he was cold and alone, no one would blame him from running, eve she would understand, he looked at her, she was smiling, her ribs were probably broken, but she said something, something that did not carry over the battlefield, but even far away he could read her lips.

"run" she said with a smiled.

His body was too weak to move, hurt and tired, if he moved now he could not move later, but his body knew that, and it gave him just enough strength to move, to run away, to abide by his saviors wish, to live, and ultima tile let her die, but there was nothing he could do, and yet, he did, he ran, towards the beast, giant white death, the nature's wrath incarnate into a monster of flesh and bones, like him, like her, it bleeds, it can die.

He threw a branch at the giant, enough to make it look, but not that much, the giant laughed at the mime's attempt and when it turned his back, the mime hit it with an axe, finally earning its attention, the mime ran with the strength that he didn't have, and few to the ground, the Deerclops raised its hand, like a guillotine blade decreeing his and it fell.

The giant feel, as the broken and bruised Wigfrid punched a hole thought the giant's leg, its blood running across her spear and feeding her shattered body, the battle was not over.

Before falling on the ground, she stood in front of the monster, plucking her old spear from its chest spraying a fountain of dark blood, the battle was not over.

She tried piercing its eye, but the monster caught her on its cold hands, freezing her body and crushing it like glass, the battle was not over.

She screamed to the creature.

"This is a Gödless land" As she threw her spear on the thing's eye, any human would be death already, but Wigfrid was not human, neither was the creature, as the spear only bounced on the thing's sclera, making it blink.

She slipped from her broken wooden armor, a sorry excuse of how she was alive, she got the spear before it feel and lunged it on its neck, a moment of weakness was enough to bring its death, but the battle was not over.

The thing screamed, it tried to get up, but it couldn't, the only thing it did was run wildly for some steps, it fell, the battle was over.

Luck never smiled at Wes, be it in forests of wood or stone, trapped in bars of bone or air, he was never a lucky man, but today was different, dancing between misfortunes and a labyrinth of unusual paths he found himself in a beautiful place, below earth and far from the light he saw the impossible, a blue meadow with blue mushroom trees, light in the middle of an infinity abyss, he may have come here to run away from death, but to find life here could only be luck.

His smiled faded, luck never smiled to him, suddenly the earth above started to sift and life a rainstorm the sky feel on his head, he ran towards the blue meadow just to be meat by an impossible void between himself and beauty-

A mockery

Wes thought, he would've screamed to nature herself if he could, but even quiet the world still answered, if the earth raged above him, it would be only right to do it below him, small mounds of dirt moved at a distance, the sound of a thousand crawling worms drowned the sound of the earthquake, everything wanted him dead.

He ran, watching for the falling rocks and trying to remember his path back was impossible for the mime, he was not a survivor, he didn't have the strength or fighting prowess of his friends, nor the magic or knowledge, he shouldn't be here, he knew that, and so did the world, so it demanded that he wasn't, it demanded his death more than any other.

He was tired, not because he ran for too long, but because he was weak, his body was weaker than the others, much like his luck, his mind, his strength, but he steeled himself, his bones burned, and his muscles gridded into dust, his sweat made his makeup fall on his eyes and when he closed them by instinct a rock hit his head.

Red, from his black hair a streak of bright red burned his body, every time he was hurt enough to bleed his friends were near, but not now, not here, he was already below the earth, they didn't need to dig.

For a moment he accepted everything, his body made out of flesh could not move like steel, if only he was half as strong as them, as her.

Red, it reminded of her, so fitting for his last moments to be blessed by her image, her voice could clean the cacophony that was the caves-

My Crimson Chanteuse, I only pray that you don't miss me.

He selfishly prayed with his soon-to-be last breath, but prayers are for Gods, and they didn't want his wishes, so from the corner of his eyes he saw a light.

Red, a glimmer impossible in this hell, when he turned to see it he confirmed, a red gem, between the rocks that fell from above this was different, it was red like her but weak like him, when marble and gold shattered on impact a clear red gem could not exist, and nature agreed.

A thousand and one rocks fell on the red gem, something beautiful killed once again on this world, cold, alone, but persistent, it was still there.

Did they miss? Was the gem even there?

Questions filled the silence of the mime, and when he moved to confirm, another shade filled his vision.

Blue, the light dangling in front of him promised that all would be ok, like an angler fish luring prey, but he didn't care about that beauty anymore.

If sloth is the father of all inventions and lust and love are one and the same, then greed was the wish to live, this world was not his, nothing was his, if he was going to die he would die with something in his hands, he clutched his lantern tight and hit the monster hiding beneath the glow, he could never fight, but that hit was enough to distract the worm.

He ran, not to live but to have, he needed that gem, someone needed to have her, alone in the cold, he could not think of himself, waiting to be picked, to be recognized by their work, that is an all artist's song, if no one would come for him, he would come for someone, something, it was too late for him, but art works with or without time.

The rocks flayed him, his weak glass bones cut him from inside out, but there was no tomorrow, only today, a performance for he and he alone, a silent soliloquy, composed for nothing, and no one, and in the end, the red gem was in his hand.

He shielded the brittle gem with equally brittle bones, who was he to decide what lives and dies? In the end, the gem only showed him cold.

In front of him, slowly being lit by the cavern flowers an escape, the howling winds brought cold, but an escape none less, cradling the gem in his hands he walked up the stairs carved from rock and magic.

He crawled out of the cave, the surface was not any better, the empty planes where he stood were filled with nothing but cold.

White, an infinite expanse of nothing and cold, it buried the grass and drowned life, yet, he was still there, the heat from his hands made contrast with the cold, the red gem in his hand challenged the cold winter, and although it wasn't enough to keep him from death, and wasn't the thing keeping him alive, he liked to believe it was.

He was lost, luck for him, it wasn't night, but he knew better than to believe in luck, he opened his map to situate himself, but because it wasn't night, he didn't have any star to give directions, only he and the vast infinite white.