The Ice Underneath Her Feet

Her meek feet meet the ice. It squeaks a calm tormenting tone that mixes with the whirl of the snowstorm, yet it holds. Her certainty rises. She steps forward, completely onto the frozen lake. A lake, they express, yet for how far she needs to go, they could call it an ocean.

She looks forward and recalls accounts of waves that accident and thunder. The main thunder she knows is that of the blizzard winds. The possibility that water could thunder sounds outsider, frightening even. She considers how striking the ice should be to tame something so horrible, to go it to quietness underneath her feet. Her sluggish cautious speed gives her chance to consider these things, to harp on these restless thoughts. She lifts a gloved hand to clear back a free strand of slight earthy colored hair that spills forward from her fur hood, then, at that point, brushes the sensitive precious stone snow from her eyebrows. With a look in reverse, she sees just white and dim, the coastline behind her generally clouded. The snowstorms deny her that last gander at the Heavenly Mountain and ameliorating structure looks after the Town. It should be destructive today, up there, however up there, the snowstorm will pass and allow her kin to climb in the future.

The snowstorm never passes on the lake.

It contorts and thunders always, an everlasting chaos of thunder and snow. Profound into that everlasting tempest; that is where she should walk. They say the eye of the tempest edifies all who arrive at it, yet it's hard at that time to accept this tempest has an end, quit worrying about a center. How is it that it could be everything except endless? Notwithstanding the other people who had wandered there previously, she might have a hard time believing it conceivable.

The virus tears into her. The breezes attempt to toss her down. The thunder shakes her actual center. In any case, she rearranges on. She trusts all the more unequivocally now in the ice underneath her feet. Previously, she contemplated whether it would hold her. Presently, she is appreciative for its presence for it is the one thing strong and recognizable. She has known snowstorms and thunder, however never like this, where wizardry and nature combine. Endurance ought to be incomprehensible. Also, it is, generally speaking. However, she is to be an icewalker. She proceeds.

Hours pass in weariness. The blizzard develops even further, considerably further past what she imagined. However, something changes. It begins to part around her while seething on past an arm's span. She strolls additionally enclosed by her pocket of quietness. Unusual shapes wind in the whirlwinds, practically human in shape, the spirits of the Precursors. They appear to watch her, yet never do they adventure excessively close.

The ice underneath her feet and the tempest above are contrary energies. Changelessness beneath. Always showing signs of change above. Yet, she sees them together as one, indeed the very same. Together they guide her way. At first she doesn't understand that she has made it, doesn't see that her own circle of harmony is gone and that this is valid quietness.

She remains in the eye of the tempest and looks up. An ideal, inconceivable section of clear air uncovers brilliant sky above, glimmering charmed blue, not dark or white. The spirits circle around the eye, moving, looking as lengthy paths of white light moving streak down and into her chest. Warmth fills her. Power fills her.

All sensation of cold is no more. She is unified with the tempest and the spirits of the snowstorm timid away in respect. They don't part the snowstorms for her now. She can do that without anyone's help.

She lifts a hand and the breeze follows where she focuses. She shuts her clench hand. The snow stops still in mid air. The chips possibly proceed with their whirling directions when she permits them.

She is unified with the tempest.

Also, it would be so natural to make it her own.

The ice underneath her feet squeaks.

She challenges it to challenge her, challenges it to oppose her will. She is the tempest. This power has a place with her.

The ice breaks.

Before she can order her tempest to save her, she is gulped down. The ice closes over her, as thick and extremely durable as anyone might think possible.

A human would freeze and pass on or could suffocate assuming they were sufficiently unfortunate to stay cognizant that long. However, she is resistant to cold and rose above past the requirement for breath. She is caught underneath in the quietness of the lake. In a snapshot of frenzy she loses all internal compass. She doesn't realize what direction is up nor down. She thrashes in the water until her terrified feet meet the ice over her. Her feeling of discernment re-arranges itself to this reflection of the real world and she strolls upon the ice as though up were down.

She parts the waters similarly as she separated the tempest. She grins, devilishly, understanding what she has become. Also, she sets out toward the shore.