Frosted Dreams (NaNoWriMo2020)

Shestnacat'

He laughs at the snowflakes dancing in the sky, watching them fall and gather on his skin. He has to wipe them off before a pile begins to form, snow lying unmelting against his skin. The snow whispers to him, creating pictures in the sky. Morozco frowns at the story it tells. A girl huddled in the snow, flame forming in her hands.

The snow shies away from the image, darkening slightly. Morozco cups his palms and the snowflakes flock to his hands seeking comfort. For those without his gift with ice and snow, the thought of snow having personalities would be impossible to imagine, let alone believe. But it does. Snow like this, falling so heavily, it must be angry or excited.

With what it showed him of the girl, he would hazard a guess that the snow tonight is full of rage. It hates fire, more so than he does himself. Morozco can understand why the snow doesn't like flame, it doesn't want to melt. But fire won't hurt him, he's not as fragile as that. He hasn't been for centuries, when he was a young godling living in his homeland.

Morozco shakes his head. Better to not think of times past, Russia is his home. The snow swirls around him, whispering to him. It wants to hurt the girl, to smother her flame for good. He shakes his head. Whoever she is, she's not a normal human. There's more to this girl than that and he can't let the snow destroy her. He speaks to the snow still cupped in his hand.

"Lead me."

The snow swirls up and forms an arrow made of frost, pointing through the trees. The tip of it is a blinding white, still full of anger. He sighs. Any mortal who touched that glowing ice would be frostbitten immediately. The snow isn't playing around, it wants to hurt the strange girl. Very badly. He pulls it back, speaking through gritted teeth as it tries to spin out of his control.

"You will not harm her."

Fire. She is danger.

"Her fire will not destroy you, nor will it harm me. You will not touch her. I command it. You will not harm her before I reach her location."

The wind swirls harder before it stills and settles back into the arrow. Morozco reaches up into one of the trees and leaps silently from branch to branch, hidden in the falling snow. He could travel through the snow itself, but that would require knowing his destination. Besides, from the landscape he saw in the snow picture he is close enough to not need to travel inside the snowflakes themselves.

The snow has fallen more heavily around the girl's location, the storm taking its anger out on her. Morozco swallows back his rising anger at the snow's disobedience, most of this snow fell before his order. It is still falling more heavily here, but not to the extent it had earlier. A bundle lies huddled against one of the largest trees in the area, carefully positioned to not touch the snowbank but to still use its protection from the elements.

A dark shape spills out across the snow, locks of dark hair speckled with flakes of white. The girl must have fallen unconscious, perhaps due to the cold. Morozco drops from the tree and moves closer. His footsteps only make the lightest indents upon the snow, barely visible even to himself. He frowns now that he is closer to the unconscious girl.

She's covered with snow, a thick layer of it. She must have been unconscious for quite some time to be this covered in it and not have brushed it off. Morozco taps the girl's unconscious form on the shoulder. The girl doesn't react, he can barely catch the faint movement of her breathing. She won't survive out here, especially if she's a normal human.

The only beings who could last without aid are immortals or animals adapted to this environment and this girl is certainly neither of those. Morozco rotates his wrist with his fingers splayed and the snowbank changes shape, scooping beneath the girl and lifting her up into the air. He scoops her up from the snow and then swoops down to grab the bag.

The girl's head lolls against his arm, her dark skin ashy and tinted grey. Yes, if she stayed here she would die. The snow swirls, angry with his choice. It can sense the direction of his thoughts and it does not like his plan. But that doesn't matter, the snow doesn't control him. He controls it. Morozco steps into the snow, using the flakes to quickly reach his home.

He pulls the quarterstaff from his back and knocks thrice against a pine tree beside a hill. The hill yawns open, golden light spilling out. He steps through the hill and the hole closes behind him. Morozco looks around the room, frowning. Where should he put the girl? The ornate detailings of frost that line the room shift as the room itself changes to match his desire, a low couch forming against the wall.

Morozco lays the girl onto the couch and pulls the sodden cloth from her body. A thick quilt appears folded at one end of the couch and he drapes it over her, tucking it around her shoulders. He lays the cloth over a chair and moves it closer to the fire already crackling in the hearth and snorts. If only the people of times past could see this.

Just because he is a frost deity doesn't mean he can't handle a little flame. He isn't so fragile that he'll melt, he isn't even made of snow. Just someone who can control it. Morozco lifts the end of the strange, stiff cloth. Designs are stamped across it and he tilts his head, examining it.

A scene is displayed across the surface, a familiar place. He visited it once, a century or so ago. Before he made Russia his home. The Hawaiian islands, beneath a midnight storm. Morozco looks back at the girl. She must be from the islands, but why go to Russia? The climate in Russia is the exact opposite of that in Hawaii. He shakes his head and moves across the room to grab some food.

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Shestnacat' = sixteen(Russian)

What do you think of Morozco? How do you think Hika will react when she wakes up? What do you think will happen next? Tell me your thoughts!

Happy reading and I'll see you next chapter!

~ Goddess Of Fate, signing out