Talvace

Talvace (233) Somehow, Thranduil had managed to sneak off with Gris and Illmarinen in the dead of night. Between the three of them, they were about as subtle as a rock giant going through a deadwood forest, but they made it away from the herd and to the area where the games were without alerting anyone else. The sun was just beginning to rise as they arrived at the iced over lake, but already there were reindeer and rukaan alike running around, launching snowballs at each other, building snowmen, or doing their best to not slip as they played on the lake. It was minor chaos, and that was just how Thranduil and his charges liked it. “Dad! Look! There are so many reindeer here!” Gris chirped, practically bouncing alongside her father. Illmarinen, never one to be left out, headbutted her playfully before sprinting ahead of them. “I bet I can make friends with one before you can!” “Wha- hey! That’s not fair!” Gris sprinted after her brother, rushing to make it to the young reindeer

The far side of the bed was cold, the blankets drawn up and tucked beneath the lip of the bed. When Dominic’s hand reached for the man who had been lying there the night before, it found only cold fabric and empty space. A pang of panic? Disappointment? Hurt? Went through the man’s chest, but was soon drowned out by a wave of nausea and the stab of mistakes he always swore he’d never make again.  An undignified groan pulled itself from the mage’s chest as his eyes slowly creaked open like twin drawbridges stiff with neglect and stuck shut with moss and rust. A sliver of sun snuck through a moth-eaten hole in one of the curtains, illuminating a myriad of dustmotes waltzing toward the floor. If the sun was up, then so was Jochi, and so Dominic would have to be if he wanted to claim the man’s company. When had he gotten so domestic that a hangover would send him crawling into the lap of a man like the farmer who’s bed he’d taken to sharing? He snorted, squeezed his eyes shut, took a

The queue to enter the arena Kestrana used for events and inspections, consisted of a resigned looking boy and his Jibita, and a man leading an impatient Haspar who walked up, peered in through the doors, and quickly decided to come back another time. Not one to pass up the opportunity for a short inspection line, though, Hawthorne led her flash Jibita mare, a buckskin tobiano sabino with sable, fryekli, and shavar markings, named Tide, right into the line behind the waiting boy. Pike, her dog, was recalled to her side with a sharp whistle.  “Don’t go wandering off here, Pike,” she told the curious pup. “There’s too much going on. You’ll get trampled before you know it.” The dog cocked its head to the side, one ear flopping over while the other stood at attention, almost as if she could understand what Hawthorne was telling her.  “Alright, well, yes, better luck next time.” An oddly accented voice filtered through the area’s opening, paired with frustrated sighs from a couple leading