To Die By Fire

The snow, compact against that obsidian ground would moan audibly against the man's weight, would have cracked had his gait not been gentle. It was in this manor that the man sought the mountain. His cold gaze settled ever forward seeking any vertical life to contrast the plain of snow and rock. It would be the last time he would patrol the mountain and his absence would alas devoid the land of life other than the strangers who came to marvel at the deadened volcano. Such were the strangers that fathomed themselves before the man; their distant chatter falling upon his ears in an uneven wave of intelligible sound against the winter wind. His nose would flare in an attempt to read their status but a sulfurous air would sting his lungs instead.



So the man would come to rely on patience and time to gain the perspective he desired. His limbs becoming warmer as the incline sharpened and snow gave way to rock. Soon the distance between the strangers was no more than a yard and the man's ears would flutter as a precise humming would ring within them. Curiosity would tinge his otherwise stoic features and he would take a seat beside the women as he awaited a turn to speak. Given her comments regarding the mountain his attention would find bias in the woman whose pelt appeared as if it were pointed by fire. When speech broke his crown would bow in a manner of greeting and once risen, black jowls would break. I suppose it is easy to underestimate what appears to be ordinary. I question what fire is aflame beneath your lively presence. He would inquire thoughtfully, tone somewhat at a jest; an uncommon expression in such a straightforward man. Allowing a pause for respective speech he would introduce himself appropriately, turning towards the smaller mottled woman in acknowledgement before once again speaking. I am Deteste. Master of Tortuga.