The icy tundra wind was edged with a note of sadness on the second
day of pain – and it bit at the skin with extra ferocity, chapped the
lips and kissed the flaked skin with a false love.
Inside a
kernel of warmth hidden under the white flurries that flew and danced
outside, was a fire crackling, the resin seeping and sticky on the logs
and filling the room with a gentle pine scent, a clatter of cutlery and
crockery immersed in soapy water. Suddenly the wooden door flew off the
hinges and the glass the man was holding fell on the floor.
Snow
blew past the monster in the doorway, the door in tatters about it,
blood and ripped muscle and sinew stuck to its frozen limbs. Its face
was twisted and frostbitten, the nose and ears green and dead, the eyes
framed with icicles and the lips blue. Guttural, primal noises filled
the air and the creature paced forward, slow and frozen. The fire blew
out and the tiny house was bathed in darkness.
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