[The charm around Takasugi's neck burns, chilled metal out of equilibrium with his skin.
Through the first night, he'd felt the wind whip around and through him, weaving between the threads of his layered, woolen yukatas. Chill settled in, numb fingers and face shielded from the wind only by a turned back. He hadn't stopped for sleep; he didn't feel any warmth from the sunrise. With light beating down as frigid as the wastes of the snow surrounding, Takasugi invoked the dragon-scale pendant's magic.
Imbued with warmth, he trudged on. With a pace that outstripped the procession of most - he'd been well aware of his time limit. Twenty-four hours until the warmth is spent.
A great creature, its fire surely once hot enough to turn an entire city to molten rubble, harvested for its skin and bones and marrow to keep those that seek to kill its brethren safe in their journey.
Irony that bites like the first gust of wind he feels when the spell fades. Clouded skies a barrier against both light and heat, night clings to snow-dusted hills and sleep tugs at his eyes.
The day drags, and time becomes obscured by the static, heavy grey above.
To stop is to tempt death. To wander through the snow that's begun to fall, thick and heavy and blinding, is to chase it. Takasugi ducks under a jutting edifice, not so much a cave as a rock broken into a crescent, and crouches.
Feels the chain of his pendant shift and prick his neck with chill.]
. mikazuki
Through the first night, he'd felt the wind whip around and through him, weaving between the threads of his layered, woolen yukatas. Chill settled in, numb fingers and face shielded from the wind only by a turned back. He hadn't stopped for sleep; he didn't feel any warmth from the sunrise. With light beating down as frigid as the wastes of the snow surrounding, Takasugi invoked the dragon-scale pendant's magic.
Imbued with warmth, he trudged on. With a pace that outstripped the procession of most - he'd been well aware of his time limit. Twenty-four hours until the warmth is spent.
A great creature, its fire surely once hot enough to turn an entire city to molten rubble, harvested for its skin and bones and marrow to keep those that seek to kill its brethren safe in their journey.
Irony that bites like the first gust of wind he feels when the spell fades. Clouded skies a barrier against both light and heat, night clings to snow-dusted hills and sleep tugs at his eyes.
The day drags, and time becomes obscured by the static, heavy grey above.
To stop is to tempt death. To wander through the snow that's begun to fall, thick and heavy and blinding, is to chase it. Takasugi ducks under a jutting edifice, not so much a cave as a rock broken into a crescent, and crouches.
Feels the chain of his pendant shift and prick his neck with chill.]