Andarin: The Mountains: nicodemus; --

horse stock by colourize @ deviantArt ; photomanipulation by Lore

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

Andürien?

Yes?

What can we do?

Watch.

Nicodemus. The name is strange in my tongue – a name I know of, and spoke about, but never felt, never truly knew. Names have power; I am not like Blaze, whose name has never been heard by anyone but her, and I am not like Raven, with her earthen grace. But names, ah, names can be dangerous.

Of course, tongue has very little to do with the actual act of speaking for me.

Tongue for me means the wind speaking with winter’s voice, intoning words with sounds stolen from everywhere. Maybe it isn’t just sound; sometimes there are scents, sparks of image, flurries of snow. That’s talking to me.

Funny that.

Lonely? I smile; I know he has been with my daughter – the strange one – from time to time. But Jörmungandr was taken, and burned, and her sister… ah, it doesn’t matter. I have a mission for him; to coordinate the emissaries. But now, it isn’t this mission I need to talk about.

I have another interest.

I can feel air in you, they say, my own winds, the ones I’ve had since birth. Her fire, Andürien’s, simmers under my skin – borrowed fire. How, pray tell, did you get it, Nicodemus? I’m just curious, see.

Because there are lunatics out there carrying semi-sentient stone shards embedded in their skin and thinking it somehow makes them special.

Because I was under one such lunatic – though he was more amusing than insane.

Because something snaps when we’re close, the static of the shard unbraiding under the caress of the Innocence.

Mm.

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