Flight Rising Discussion

tundras were made in the southern icefields, presumably by the icewarden himself

the icewarden keeps horrible things forever frozen in the fortress of ends to protect the rest of sornieth

what if the icewarden made tundras forgetful on purpose, so all their sad or upsetting memories caused by the things he's hidden (or failed to hide) in the ice would fade and they wouldn't be hurt by them anymore?

icedads just trying his best to look out for his kiddos :(

oh ohhh
i like this a lot..

@Callistephus
There's literally a tundra gothic post on flight rising tag on tumblr and I'm gonna go grab it to post here

[quote=Handsometundras] You come upon a stranger unknown to you. They greet you warmly and by name. You know that this is not the first time you’ve met them. They do not smell like a friend. You start brushing your mane at dawn. It is past sunset now, though you are not sure if it is the sunset of the same day. You are still brushing. “Almost done,” you say. Your mane fills the room, spills out the door, disappears under the silver winter moon outside. “Almost done.” You go out walking with a friend through the snow. Your friend’s voice grows louder and louder as the snow under your paws gets deeper. In between breaths you can hear the crunch of snow has given way to the crunch of bones. Your friend just keeps talking. Louder. The weather is changing: grey clouds break up, revealing the first sun and blue sky you’ve seen for months. Green shoots peek up at you from under softening snow in the garden. The neighbours rejoice; surely summer is just around the corner, they say. You decide not to tell them you can feel your undercoat growing in thicker. Every summer, the strawberries in the eastern meadows grow more plump and abundant than anywhere else. Every summer, the strawberries in the eastern meadows are left to rot. Everyone knows the fruit in those meadows doesn’t smell like fruit; it smells like a warning. The lake is frozen solid: a tempting shortcut through the forest toward home. You hear footsteps under the ice behind you, all the way to the other shore. You see nothing; you smell nothing. You do not take the shortcut again. Reclaiming the innocence and vigor of your youth sounded too good to be true, but it’s not until after you touch the scroll that you realise the trap. Your mind is still plagued with decades of regret and your body is now that of a helpless hatchling, only this time you won’t grow up. This time, it’s eternal. You’ve trapped so many things in the ice that now the neighbours are starting to worry. You tell them it’s necessary. You tell them you have to make the Icewarden see; he didn’t make a mistake. You do not think about the spring thaw. [/quote]

Press F To Pay Respects

[quote name="IronPen" date="2018-11-18 04:01:02" ] [quote=Handsometundras] You come upon a stranger unknown to you. They greet you warmly and by name. You know that this is not the first time you’ve met them. They do not smell like a friend. You start brushing your mane at dawn. It is past sunset now, though you are not sure if it is the sunset of the same day. You are still brushing. “Almost done,” you say. Your mane fills the room, spills out the door, disappears under the silver winter moon outside. “Almost done.” You go out walking with a friend through the snow. Your friend’s voice grows louder and louder as the snow under your paws gets deeper. In between breaths you can hear the crunch of snow has given way to the crunch of bones. Your friend just keeps talking. Louder. The weather is changing: grey clouds break up, revealing the first sun and blue sky you’ve seen for months. Green shoots peek up at you from under softening snow in the garden. The neighbours rejoice; surely summer is just around the corner, they say. You decide not to tell them you can feel your undercoat growing in thicker. Every summer, the strawberries in the eastern meadows grow more plump and abundant than anywhere else. Every summer, the strawberries in the eastern meadows are left to rot. Everyone knows the fruit in those meadows doesn’t smell like fruit; it smells like a warning. The lake is frozen solid: a tempting shortcut through the forest toward home. You hear footsteps under the ice behind you, all the way to the other shore. You see nothing; you smell nothing. You do not take the shortcut again. Reclaiming the innocence and vigor of your youth sounded too good to be true, but it’s not until after you touch the scroll that you realise the trap. Your mind is still plagued with decades of regret and your body is now that of a helpless hatchling, only this time you won’t grow up. This time, it’s eternal. You’ve trapped so many things in the ice that now the neighbours are starting to worry. You tell them it’s necessary. You tell them you have to make the Icewarden see; he didn’t make a mistake. You do not think about the spring thaw. [/quote] [/quote] heck this is cool someone make other breed gothics these are so creepy i love them

this is scary