![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
( this is my excavation )
Nov. 2nd, 2012 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
treachery[ Like all things, winter was young, once.
Once, when the sun's light was still pale and freckled, and the skies were burnt and brushed with ash where the star-children fought against brother and sister alike to shine all the brighter. When the mountain peaks were soft and sweet with new snow; when the green promise of life wrought by rain and seed began to sprout and turn their bright blooms to the heavens.
His limbs were long and white, like the absence of all color and shadow: he sat against the stripped black spires of dying trees and watched the sunset wash his blank canvas of a body into color. He walked upon the still surface of the lake that rested upon the shoulders of a mountain; the water turned to ice under his bare feet. He leant down and pressed fingertips to the glistening surface of what had once been a lake, and he saw his face staring back at him.
Hello, he had murmured. It was the first time the mountains and the wind and the great wintergreen trees had heard his voice. Hello, he said, lifting his face away. Snow fell to anoint his raised forehead and his parted lips, matting the netted shadows of his hair to the hollows of his face.
So the snow learned the shape of its new master. So the splinter of life named Loki upon the blessed new earth breathed out, and froze the air into crystals that rose and fixed themselves into the spill of his hair.
Like this, Loki wandered the hills and the mountains and the springs eternal, and he taught the running water to still its racing feet, he taught the trees to shed their green finery and stand naked and proud before him. He taught the skies to rage with sleet and storm, and he taught it to draw itself cold and quiet with deep-veined serenity. He taught the rabbits and the wolves to shed their fur coats and grow new sleek white cloaks to hide themselves within. He taught the birds to sing winter-songs, and the beasts to build warm shelters against the cruelty of the wind and its icy scythe.
The newfragile world learned from him, and it loved him — for his clever tongue and lashing wit, for the eldritch green of his eyes and the gentle strength in his fingertips.
But Loki soon grew listless and malcontent upon his high throne of glass, for he could see beyond the white hills of his country, and into the colorful splendor of the world beyond.
—
One day, he steps out the world of his crafting, and he looks about himself with a critical eye. A bluebird and its solemn mate perched together in a low-branched tree, trilling a melody that Loki had once sung to all of birdkind. In an instant, Loki has plucked the singing bluebird from its branch, and caged it within his white fingers. With the wonder of youth, he presses his cheek to the feathered breast, and feels the thudding beat of heart and blood quiet when he snaps its neck.
Its mate begins the song again on its own.
Loki begins to hide his nakedness, clothing himself in the bright plumage of winter-birds who gladly lay life and loyalty at his feet. The crystals in his hair catch the light; he wears them in a dozen strings about his hips, and studded about the curve of his eyelids. He pulls apart the root and blossom of a hundred different burgeoning stems, drying and crushing them into fine colored powers. And so he darkens his mouth, and the fan of lashes below his eyes. He wears the cured hides of winter-beasts about himself, stitched through with golden thread and slivers of rosy quartz.
So Loki grows vain in his pursuit of beauty, and still it is not enough. Winter is the stark rise of a cold morning, and the fall of a blanketing night. He looks to the north and watches the sun paint the green earth alive with beauty and truth, and he aches to know what the creatures of such a world would have to say to him.
On the hundredth sunfall after Loki's yearning for the green country began, he peers into his mirror of glass, and deems himself ready to leave the land of his creation. He dresses his feet in doeskin boots, wears his newly-cured pelts, adorns himself with color and feather and stone, and he sets out to sate the hunger that his curiosity has become. ]
Once, when the sun's light was still pale and freckled, and the skies were burnt and brushed with ash where the star-children fought against brother and sister alike to shine all the brighter. When the mountain peaks were soft and sweet with new snow; when the green promise of life wrought by rain and seed began to sprout and turn their bright blooms to the heavens.
His limbs were long and white, like the absence of all color and shadow: he sat against the stripped black spires of dying trees and watched the sunset wash his blank canvas of a body into color. He walked upon the still surface of the lake that rested upon the shoulders of a mountain; the water turned to ice under his bare feet. He leant down and pressed fingertips to the glistening surface of what had once been a lake, and he saw his face staring back at him.
Hello, he had murmured. It was the first time the mountains and the wind and the great wintergreen trees had heard his voice. Hello, he said, lifting his face away. Snow fell to anoint his raised forehead and his parted lips, matting the netted shadows of his hair to the hollows of his face.
So the snow learned the shape of its new master. So the splinter of life named Loki upon the blessed new earth breathed out, and froze the air into crystals that rose and fixed themselves into the spill of his hair.
Like this, Loki wandered the hills and the mountains and the springs eternal, and he taught the running water to still its racing feet, he taught the trees to shed their green finery and stand naked and proud before him. He taught the skies to rage with sleet and storm, and he taught it to draw itself cold and quiet with deep-veined serenity. He taught the rabbits and the wolves to shed their fur coats and grow new sleek white cloaks to hide themselves within. He taught the birds to sing winter-songs, and the beasts to build warm shelters against the cruelty of the wind and its icy scythe.
The newfragile world learned from him, and it loved him — for his clever tongue and lashing wit, for the eldritch green of his eyes and the gentle strength in his fingertips.
But Loki soon grew listless and malcontent upon his high throne of glass, for he could see beyond the white hills of his country, and into the colorful splendor of the world beyond.
—
One day, he steps out the world of his crafting, and he looks about himself with a critical eye. A bluebird and its solemn mate perched together in a low-branched tree, trilling a melody that Loki had once sung to all of birdkind. In an instant, Loki has plucked the singing bluebird from its branch, and caged it within his white fingers. With the wonder of youth, he presses his cheek to the feathered breast, and feels the thudding beat of heart and blood quiet when he snaps its neck.
Its mate begins the song again on its own.
Loki begins to hide his nakedness, clothing himself in the bright plumage of winter-birds who gladly lay life and loyalty at his feet. The crystals in his hair catch the light; he wears them in a dozen strings about his hips, and studded about the curve of his eyelids. He pulls apart the root and blossom of a hundred different burgeoning stems, drying and crushing them into fine colored powers. And so he darkens his mouth, and the fan of lashes below his eyes. He wears the cured hides of winter-beasts about himself, stitched through with golden thread and slivers of rosy quartz.
So Loki grows vain in his pursuit of beauty, and still it is not enough. Winter is the stark rise of a cold morning, and the fall of a blanketing night. He looks to the north and watches the sun paint the green earth alive with beauty and truth, and he aches to know what the creatures of such a world would have to say to him.
On the hundredth sunfall after Loki's yearning for the green country began, he peers into his mirror of glass, and deems himself ready to leave the land of his creation. He dresses his feet in doeskin boots, wears his newly-cured pelts, adorns himself with color and feather and stone, and he sets out to sate the hunger that his curiosity has become. ]
