The leader of the bulwark of Tessanis, the true survivor of the Death of Magic, sat silently on a rocky outcropping, overlooking the campsite they'd settled into. The journey had been, fairly uneventful thus far. Sure, a few hiccups, but nothing major. But the winds had an abnormal chill in them, ever since they crossed into the mountains. It came and went, never consistent, but was definitely unnatural. It permeated his fur like the other cold couldn't. He had a suspicion of what it truly was, but he needed to know more before he could even voice such a thought. It was interesting that magic had begun returning to the world, as expected, but he had gotten used to the purist, normal world without it. 

At the rate it was going, magic would be the death of him.

The snowfall reminded him of a woman from across the ages, his eyes picking out the intimate details of each flake he focused on her. Her hair had been silver, her eyes like the moon's shine. He knew that his return might cross their paths once more, for better or for worse. Many years ago, he'd been sure that he'd finished his mourning of her. But as it turned out, he'd just buried it down and it was now resurfacing. Though, to be fair, it had nothing to do with falling snow, or the moon's loving caress. No, it had everything to do with the woman he'd just watched leave her tent.

Rilana Aurorime'.

And the woman piqued his curiosity as she left camp. His gut reaction was one of treachery. Except they had no enemies, and she was hardly the disloyal type. She'd already showed her heroism at the tournament, and he was an excellent judge of character. It hadn't failed him yet. He followed her at a distance, noting her stealthiness, though it couldn't match his own. Watching her move in her natural world was quite appealing to him. It was as if seeing a flower in the wild for the first time after having only seen it in bouquets. She belonged in the cold world. 

He smiled as his keen hearing picked out her words over the winds, feeling a stirring in himself as her hair tumbled free. For the first time since having left his empire's land, he began to realize that he was not bound by his station, that he could take this temporary freedom to heart. He watched her step on the ice, as he was about to reveal himself.

And then her song began. 

He felt every word tug at him, speaking to him a bit more than they might have three hundred years ago. They pulled memories forth, both happy and painful. He remembered arriving in Frigmount for the first time so many years ago, an angry youth that had found calm in the frigid fortress. He remembered his hundredth birthday, knowing that nearly everyone he'd ever loved had already died. His memories carried him forth silently, feeling the ice beneath his feet now. He remembered his brother he'd had to kill, his sister who died because of his cowardice. 

He remembered the last time he'd danced.

And that memory carried him silently behind the Envoy. He could smell her feminine musk, intoxicating at this distance. He knew her to be crying, his eyes watching the snowflakes settle in the cascade of her hair. His unseen eyes were hungry. He felt his time was coming soon, that his freedom would be short lived. He knew this dance, the silver eyed woman had taught it to him those centuries ago. Relaxing his stance, his hand gently and firmly found her waist, and spun her deftly around to face him. His other caught one of her swinging hands, and his eyes locked on hers. 

[color=f7941d][i][b]"No woman should dance alone on her birthday, Aurorime."[/b][/i][/color] 

With the that, he pulled her body close to him, as the unnaturally cold winds passed through them both. But he stood fast against it. Then he began to lead. His knowledge of the Frigmount steps had not waned in his years away. He kept their hips close, their torsos touching, his grip firm and direct. And though he knew the steps, the proper movements, there was something primal in them as well, his own flair. He kept this up, moving in rhythm, not with an unsung song, but with the lights above. He flowed as they did, ebbed as they waned, crested as they rose. 

Many long slips into the dance, it stopped. Smiling lightly, [color=f7941d][b][i]"And how many years might our northern flower be now?"[/i][/b][/color]