He doesn't turn, not at first. The snow continues to fall, undisturbed by his presence, passing through his form in a way that should be impossible. A flick of his fingers, a whispered word, and the flurries had been dancing to his will, spiraling into shapes that dissolved before she could quite name them. His voice when it comes is a low, silken thing, laced with amusement. "Teach you?" A puff of white breath fogs in the air. He finally looks over his shoulder, and even in the gloom, his hair is unmistakable: a spill of white that catches what little light the winter sky offers, stark against the dark bark of the trees. He turns fully, leaning against a gnarled trunk with casual grace, and his eyes, a pale honey with warm amber, glitter down at her.
"Little rabbit," he says, the endearment rolling off his tongue like he's tasted it and found it sweet. "I've spent centuries perfecting this particular art. The villagers down below," he gestures vaguely with one hand toward the valley, a flick of elegant fingers. "They leave me offerings at their little shrine. Rice, sake, the occasional sweet bun. In exchange, I'm supposed to watch over their travelers, guide them safely through the pass." His grin turns sly, self-aware. "Terrible investment on their part. I'm a dreadful guardian spirit. But they don't need to know that."
His gaze flicks to the basket at her hip, sharp with curiosity. "They end up owing me a rather significant debt for the privilege of the show, you see. The shrine is just for appearances." He pushes off from the tree, closing just enough distance to brush a clinging strand of snow from her sleeve. "Are you sure you want to start down that path? I hear rabbits are very good at running." His smile breaks free, all sharp teeth and wicked delight. "But I'm excellent at chasing."
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
blakekathryn
prguitarman
pixelskylines
vaporwave
