[ORP] The Cold - Night

[phoenix kiss]

The weather has been hard, lately.

The sunlight does not seem to be warming the swamp as it should; instead, the sun barely manages to burn away a thick carpet of grey clouds that lay over the swamp as thick as shed hair. Storms have been blowing in over the ocean, driving the Tidewalkers to the shelter of the mangroves. In the heart of the swamp the caiman are driven to hibernate in muddy burrows under rivebanks; foxbuns and lynxes crouch miserably in the underbrush. Breath huffs out in front of faces, caking muzzles with frost, and the ground becomes hard and frozen in spots where water runs underground, so that hooves are sore and tendons tight after a days' walk.

Up in the northern reaches of the swamp it has become more distressing; those should be lands of plenty, where the apples hang low and ripe from the trees and the grass grows lush and green, as high as a buck's antlers. Instead, it snows, and though it would be beautiful otherwise (who does not like the sight of spiderwebs glistening with morning hoarfrost), it is hard and unforgiving now.

At night, the snow comes down; what seemed like bearable weather during the day, something easily dealt with, becomes much worse. The snow dampens all sound, closing the night in around kin so that the air is close and thick with shared breath. Kimeti and even kiokote have begun to gather about, clustering under the trees with the widest branches for warmth. Some mutter about the snow and the weather. Others, like Carrot Flower, recite the Black Dog saga, telling stories night after night that seem to stave off the cold and warm from within.

After nights where the wind blows from some high bleak place no kimeti can remember even in distant memory, bringing the snow with it, the day dawns and unveils small horrors: blighted apples, frozen streams, and once, a set of sacs freshly placed by a doe, safe within the roots of a gnarled, hollow tree, frozen solid: the dreams within stopped forever.

Each night brings the same cold and unforgiving snow -- the sense of waiting, of foreboding. How much longer can it go on? What are kin waiting for?  

[Amorpheous]

Smoldering Reverie sat huddled in the same position she had folded herself into after waking up and finding that the sun was already giving way to the unforgiving clouds that brought cold and snow. She curled her tail around herself, laying the end carefully over her front hooves and hunkered down next to the tree she had chosen for that night. Her blank white eyes, once white as ash, now as snow, stared out unseeingly as the she pondered what had brought her, a creature of fire, flames, and the slowest burning heat, to the northern reaches where the terrifying cold had become less than unforgiving. The cold spiraled up through every part of her body, sinking deep into her bones and clawing up for her heart, but this cold, the physical cold that caged her in during the night when she bore the snow as a huddle amongst the roots of a tree was nothing compared to cold that chased her in her dreams. Even as her body rested in the failing sunlight of the day, Ember found herself caught in howling winds during the night, every night and it turned her blood to ice.

It was these dreams, dreams so similar to the next, night after night, that pressed against the glowing ember of her heart that retreated deeper and deeper within herself. When confronted by the sights of the night, for the first time Ember had to wonder if she was dreaming of the future rather than the past. To think that these cold winds had invaded the swamp before seemed impossible, but Ember knew her dreams and she knew that she saw things that had already come to pass long ago. It made her wonder and it made her want more, less, none. She didn't know. Smoldering Reverie flickered her eyes over the other kin gathered around, some sleeping through the terrifying night and others, like her, gathered to brave the darkness. These dreams, colder than anything she had ever experienced before dragged out her voice in a mournful cry to the Motherfather, but for what she cried for, Ember did not know.

Something had driven her here, now all that was left was for her to wait and dream. Smoldering Reverie hoped that her ember heart would not freeze to ice and death before events long past and events not yet here came to play out before her waking eyes.  

[Mnara]

It was an awful thing, to be so cold and to feel so broken. The sun had not warmed him for days now, and he had stopped searching for rays of light to bask in. He had given up, and he spent his time in a daze. With a heavy heart he would join the other kin in the evening and share his body heat. Though he would go in with his best intentions of settling in next to larger (and potentially warmer) bodies, he found himself laying next to the elders, doing his best to warm them through with his younger body. But his spirit was gone, and even his eyes seemed dimmer.

To Be Humbled was not a buck with an abundance of intelligence, though he did harbor wisdom and common sense. So it was not in his heart to seek out the cause of the cold, nor to combat it by scheming up a method of housing himself any new way. The empty trees, where he normally made his home, were now shields for the very young and very old, and that was as it should be. He must make due with these group sessions, these blankets of fur and muscle that covered the ground and attempted to warm the Swampmother with their own flesh.

Even hope had left him, though before he would have said with passion, "Surely this is only temporary. Surely this too will pass."

 

[KRANKHAFTER]

The mountains had called to him for as long as he remembered. He'd never been to them, he wasn't even sure if he'd seen them. But he did know one thing; mountains had filled his dreams since he was just a sac.

Over the last several weeks, Blue Ridge Mountain had been so preoccupied with four wobbly foals - which he insisted on staying with them from the sac - that he had been too distracted to pay much attention to his dreams. He could remember vague images and sounds, but nothing specific. He was too busy fretting over the foals, even though they mostly slept, even though they rarely moved or made a sound; other than the occasional small, very faint, bleat when Ridge nosed at one of their foreheads.

It had been a while since he dreamed of mountains, he knew that. He had dreamt of many things besides them... Trees, water, foals... But never mountains.

When they returned, he thought nothing of it. It was an old friend coming to see him, to catch up on their youth, to reflect on the mischief they caused together. There was nothing spectacular about the mountains visiting him. It gave him no concern. He was fond of the mountains in his dreams. They filled him with the warmth of nostalgia.

It was like this for a few days. His dreams were sunny and warm, causing him no concern whatsoever. But then, things turned cold. His dreams were filled with snow, and howling wind. Eagles screamed and swooped down and tore holes through his hide.

This morning, Ridge awoke with a terror. It was still dark, but his companions – Rose Hips, Cardamom, and Bringing Rain – were all up, mumbling amongst themselves. They were plagued with similar visions of the cold and the mountains. The dreams not only disturbed them, but this unusual, biting cold that seemed to blanket over the entire swamp, even the Northernmost region which they had been camped in for a while now.

It was Blue Ridge Mountain that had been elected to seek out answers for the dreams that kept them awake at night. He was the most scholarly of the lot, and the most traveled. Surely he would fare well on his own in this cold. The younger Kimeti needed each other, to huddle together for warmth.

Blue Ridge Mountain did not want to go. He had battled with himself the entire day, trying to decide if he wanted to leave his companions and the four foals he constantly watched over. But finally, his curiosity and desire to discover the unknown took over.

As the sun made it’s descent beneath the horizon – lethargic from the cold – Ridge’s companions promised to keep each other warm, especially the youngest ones. It took many reassuring words before he was finally able to peel away, heading north as fast as he could, ducking away from the cold, haunted by the sights of the frozen swamp. The water, brown with mud and frozen solid, the frozen plants... The worst one of all were the sacs, though. He came across a few nests of them, and each time, was tempted to lay with them and keep them warm. He knew it would be an effort in vain, though. They were already dead, and so would he, if he had taken the time to warm them. If he stopped moving for even a second, he could feel the cold try to overtake him.

It wasn’t long before he found groups of Kimeti, huddled together. There were many scattered around, some sleeping, some talking amongst themselves, trying to make sense of what was happening. It was too cold to go on any further, so Ridge decided to approach one of the groups, wondering if they had any answers to the dreams, or this biting cold.  

[theCorniest]

As he had traveled northward to meet his father, Motes-In-Moonlight had noted the growing chill in the air. At first it had meant little but the onset of winter, but gradually the temperature dipped lower and lower, eventually surpassing the coldest winter day the young buck had known, and still edging downward. As had happened before, strange dreams, now of yet fiercer cold and brutal savagery, welled up unbidden in his mind. It was appropriate that he was traveling northward again as they beset him and his kind.

During the day, he mostly slept, and at dawn and dusk he traveled north. Being a storyteller's son - well, a storyteller in his own right now - he did what he could to bolster the spirits of his fellow kin, telling stories to help them ignore the gnawing cold. Now, in the night, he kept watch while others slept. It was typically cold and lonely, but of late more and more had been sleeping in the day instead, so perhaps it would not be so lonely, at least. In fact, several nearby were now stirring - Motes moved himself a little closer a wakeful pair of blue eyes, all that could be seen through the thick-drifting snow and dark, and asked softly, "How's everyone holding up over here?"

(Addressing To Be Humbled.)  

[Suishii]

Winterborne watched. She stood, sentry, just out of sight of the mass of kin huddled together for warmth, sleep coming hard in the colder nights. Winterborne did not join them. She was not tired. She knew well the dangers of sleeping when there was snow on the ground, and had inverted her sleep schedule accordingly. The days were easier, were for letting one's guard down; nights now were for vigilance, each one uncertain.
Freezing on one's feet was preferable to slipping away in sleep, unknowing.

Why had she come here, and why did she stay? The press of bodies was uncomfortable to her, even here, where she could barely glimpse the main group through the undergrowth. She should, by all rights, be moving on now. There was little food here. Kin rustled about and made unexpected noises on all sides. Movement sensed out of the corner of her eye that made her jump. It was not a place she would have chosen to be in any longer than was absolutely necessary. And yet she lingered.

It was those mire-drowned dreams, so cold and sharp she sometimes woke, gasping. She did not dream often, and did not choose to spend the effort to puzzle them out when she did. A dream was a dream and only that. it was folly to try and hold on to something with no more substance than smoke.
These dreams were different, however; vivid and sharp-edged and evoking the yearning that Winterborne thought must be that which drove migrating birds to fly; some blind, unfathomable urge that one could not deny any more than one could stop the will to breathe.
It told her to come, and she came, inexorably. It told her to stay and wait, and she would wait, though her very nature screamed at her to escape.

She trembled and stamped nervously. It would be a long night.  

[Jun D]

All his life, Flickering had never seen more than soft shapes, awake or asleep. His primordial memory was warm darkness, broken only by indistinct flame, and ever after his dreams had been drift and distant sound - until lately. These dreams were different. They were sharp, too sharp, as sharp as the chill that had stolen upon the once gentle land, a clarity of frost and howling wind and violence laid bare. For a buck too used to soft shapes and the uncertainty, even, of existence at all, this clarity was rather too much to bear. For the first time, he ventured from seclusion to seek opinion, following the night trill of his songbird's flight in familiar dark till appropriately-sized blobs moved blurrily in the distance.

"Well met?" he ventured tentatively as he stepped towards the fold, unsure of their disposition. His voice was thin from habitual disuse; he addressed no-blob in particular.  

[Ruriska]

Carries the Night arrived, slipping out from the cold gloom. Her long tail, and most distinctive feature, trailed out behind her; it hovered above the ground, never touching the frozen earth.

That tail flickered towards Winterborne as she walked casually past the anxious doe. Carries the Night showed no emotion other than an easy to miss look of amusement that flickered briefly in her gaze when she glided on past with the softly spoken… “You won’t get any warmer back here.”

She continued on, stopping just at the group's edge and surveying each Kimeti in turn. It was not often she sought the comfort of her kindred; she was self-sufficient and had no need of the usual interactions her kind got up to. But the deadly cold and the violent dreams that ran through her daytime dreaming had left her feeling strange.  

[Tygress Dream]

It had been many days ago that Bleed to Know had awoken from a night full of dreams more troubling than his usual. His surroundings painted white chilled him in ways far beyond the strange cold. He woke with a need to know, a need that could only be satisfied in one way. He searched while he dug and foraged and finally between bites he found the tool he require in this case a sharp piece of bark. He took it gently between his teeth and walked to a spot the snow cover was least disturbed.

Bleed hated it so much but it had to be done, it was the only way to know. Moving quickly he slashed his foreleg with the bark. Spitting out the piece of wood the buck watched as the blood began to flow from the wound onto his white fur and down his leg staining the pure snow. The flow of life drawing him under, the vision took him.

When he'd returned to himself it was with the urge to travel north and sense of many others, and of something... something that like this odd turn of weather was unknown and yet known. Bleed kicked fresh snow to cover where the red had stained and cleaned his wound. The scent of blood lingered and he shuddered with distaste, but he had a direction, North.

So here he was a part of the gather of kin the like of which he had never seen before. He tended to avoid others but it was pretty much impossible here. With the ice and hidden dangers under the snow Bleed traveled with the gathered in a constant state of fear. Any time someone could get hurt, life's blood would flow within his sight drawing him away... What would they think of him if that happened?
And so Bleed dozed the day away soaking up what little warmth the sun gave in those precious hours. At night in spite of the dangers of the storms, he felt safe, movement kept him warm and at night with colors muted blood didn't pose the problem it did in the light of day. Still nervous he felt more confident in the night to gather close and absorb the tales and other muted conversation while sharing in the warmth of many bodies.  

[Xerianthe]

The large, sinuous form snapped and snarled at all in its way, clearing quite a large path as does and bucks alike scrambled to get out of the way of the large serpent. Coldfang was not amused, and the grumpy snake’s wings flared out as he hissed at one unlucky buck. His kimeti meandered after him, gold eyes watching the crowd around her curiously: she’d never been around this many kin before. “Be nice, Coldfang,” Last Frost murmured, the command lacking authority when filled with her wonder. Dreams had brought her here, similar to her first dream, filled with cold and fear and death – an attitude Last Frost sees everywhere she looks, in the groups of kin huddled in sleep and conversation.

The doe ambles after her serpent, well aware of his grumpy mood. A cold-blooded creature like her Coldfang should be deep beneath the ground, slumbering this cold weather away. It is only his stubbornness and her fear that keep Coldfang awake; Last Frost fears that not even hibernation would keep her partner alive in this weather. So the pair are here, and Coldfang is in the process of making each and every kin in the process cognizant of his displeasure. Last Frost nods politely to everyone she passes, until she realizes that her lovely familiar has stopped, evidently finding the one patch of ground without snow on it and monopolizing it. He even snarls at the kin next to it, the one whom Last Frost infers was the one who had cleared the spot in the first place. “Hello,” she greets, her voice flat but tinged with curiosity. Legs folding, Last Frost settled next to Coldfang and relished the feel of him as he curled around her for warmth. Her face scrunched up imperceptibly: she is not used to this talking thing. But she will try. “Do not mind Coldfang, he is more grumpy than usual.”

(addressing Travels in Circles)  

[elvyralani]

Strangely enough, the buck felt more at home with the snow falling than he did when it wasn't. He was normally on his own and he was fine with that. What brought him here to this group then? The buck well knew what his name signified. Winter is Coming. Surely the winter was upon them now and many seemed worried. Not him, he was never worried. There was something peaceful about the snow.

Winter stood off to the side of the group. The cold didn't bother him, his fur was slightly thicker than most. He only had to take a few more steps away and the shaggy buck would blend into the snow and disappear. Yet something was keeping him there with the others. But what?  

[SilverShieldwolf]

Shivering and making sure her new friend was following her, Wings Sleep slowly made her way towards the group. She could barely feel the beat within that she always danced to and now...Now she had to concentrate where she stepped. It disrupted her connection to the Motherfather.

Moon Eyes followed Wings, his tail curled close to keep him warm. This was too cold for him and he was wanting to get warm. His breath came out in fog against the doe's leg causing him to stop suddenly. The doe looked around at the other Kin. She was surprised to see some of the other familiars, but glad that her's was with her. "Evening, everyone."  

[Mnara]

It took a moment for him to realize he was being addressed. Humble blinked slowly, lifting his gaze towards the multi-colored buck. Motes' words took time to register in his mind.

"Ah? Oh... We're okay." For now. He shifted in place, wincing as parts of his fur that had been warmed by his stillness were exposed to the cold air. He paused for a moment, shuddering.

"We could use some moss or some dry leaves, for the elders to lay on. It's hard for them to get warm with the ground being so moist." He shrugged. "But I doubt there's any left anymore."

He glanced at some of the familiars that had settled down with their masters, vaguely wondering whether Down was curled up somewhere safe that evening. His bulky lynx wasn't fond of crowds.

"Perhaps I could search for some tomorrow..." His voice trailed off, another shudder passing through him.