[ Loki would not name the light in Thor's eyes as naivete, and yet it sits upon the same plinth. Because the winter was born with the melody of prophecy writ upon his heart and mind; he sees the future in the gyre of the winds, and in the rime crusting the earth and trees. He sees it now, where the clasp of pale skin against golden speaks of an thread drawn taut.
In that moment, a raven — the same that followed its master into the summerlands — looses a braying, ugly sound, offering unwittingly a chance for Loki to mask the soft whisper of a sigh.
Yet Thor's heart beats strong and steady below the splay of Loki's hand; for awhile the winter-king lets time draw forth without the interruption of conversation. And then he leans into the powerful chest wrought by summer's bountiful plenty, and leaves a murmuring kiss and a blossom of ice upon the furs covering the thrum of a beloved heart.
When he draws away, his smile is a mirror of Thor's own, sweet and sharp with mischief. ]
The dark of the night falls rapidly in the winterlands. If I am to honor such a promise, you must fill your belly with haste.
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In that moment, a raven — the same that followed its master into the summerlands — looses a braying, ugly sound, offering unwittingly a chance for Loki to mask the soft whisper of a sigh.
Yet Thor's heart beats strong and steady below the splay of Loki's hand; for awhile the winter-king lets time draw forth without the interruption of conversation. And then he leans into the powerful chest wrought by summer's bountiful plenty, and leaves a murmuring kiss and a blossom of ice upon the furs covering the thrum of a beloved heart.
When he draws away, his smile is a mirror of Thor's own, sweet and sharp with mischief. ]
The dark of the night falls rapidly in the winterlands. If I am to honor such a promise, you must fill your belly with haste.