Sandalwood

The lapis waves lap tenderly at the shores lining the Sea of a Thousand Currents, lightly soaking Sandalwood's submerged paws and causing a gentle spray of briny foam to kick up.

It's quite late, the sun having already set, the slivers of moonlight filtering past the distant silhouettes of the Tangled Wood in the east and basking the sand and water in muted, shimmering silver tones. It's quite beautiful, in a haunting, lonely sort of way, yet Sandalwood finds herself tensing as she feels the telltale chill of the night breeze tickling her fur, her eyes seeming to dim.

She doesn't accept the icy chill, her fur fluffing up even more almost defiantly as she gathers her things, mostly just collected shells and the remains of fish, and turns to head home for the night. In the daytime, the beach is a boisterous, warm, bright place, instead of a glimmering, cold expanse which mockingly reminds Sandalwood of the place which she'd escaped from, the ice which had cursed her bloodline, all from the actions of a foolish little Imperial-turned-Gaoler.

Her flustered, frustrated thoughts don't get far, and neither do her steps, as she suddenly finds herself snagging a claw on a wayward piece of driftwood, which jabs from the depths of a small sand dune for all to see. Her expression curves into a frown, and she seizes the splintery menace, her claws digging into its surface and causing it to loudly crack. Tauntingly, she hears the snap of ice as if underfoot, and she yelps, jumping back. Sure enough, a thin layer of frost as formed under her, linked so treacherously to her otherwise perfectly hidden emotional turmoil.

Sandalwood glances at the driftwood and sighs, her expression falling back into her perfectly cultivated, neutral expression. She's learned over the years to hide her feelings, if only to avoid looking like she needed... help. Needing help was what got her father into this mess. Looking defenseless and frozen and... dead was what cursed poor Mully, what had allowed resentful ice to seep into his bones and solidify his fate.

Speaking of solidifying... Sandalwood's eye twitches as she glances back at the frost. In stark defiance of the Icewarden's will, she thrusts the piece of driftwood upon it, the slivers of cold being buried under a symbol of both nature and water.

Sandalwood smiles a bit at the thought, her mind drifting back to the elation she'd felt every time the Ice Flight clinched just third place in Dominance, preferably toppled by her two favorite alignments.

All elements can be dangerous, she realizes. The sea is a crypt for what is shunned by foolish eyes, and nature can ensnare and poison. Yet, even the rage of each is gentle compared to the harsh, constant cold of the Icewarden's domain, and so Sandalwood stays, trusting that her carefully honed affinities will keep her safe from her own roots.

"Roots of even the hardiest plants shrivel in my ice."

Sandalwood stiffens at the voice, hackles raised. Her fur bristles, and she turns slightly, just enough to see the looming shadow over her. The jagged silhouette more than dwarfs the familiar Gaoler before her, though the almost comical difference makes Sandal's heart quicken, her eyes widening by hardly smidgen.

She hardly shows her fear, though the other dragon picks up on the minute change in the atmosphere, tilting his head.

That calm, thunderous voice spills from motionless jaws, like a speaker on a poorly made doll, "And the sea can freeze over, no matter how much you wish it could protect you."

Sandal's reaction is habitual; as Mully has his job, she has hers.

"Let my father go!" Sandalwood barks. Her eyes flare with energy, the ice only spreading further across her claws, inching up her legs. "Your hold on him is nullified as long as he complies with your wishes."

She's unsure who exactly she's talking to, though if her hunch is right, then none other than the Icewarden himself has taken hold of Mully. Mully's expression is far too grim, his stance devoid of life, like a statue. He occasionally breaks the stillness with a stumble or a lolling of the head, as if being piloted around by a higher being's strings or an unruly spirit. He's a puppet in every sense of the word.

Regardless of the source, the violation of autonomy sets Sandalwood on edge, and she awaits an answer, hissing quietly to showcase her anger. She's not afraid to fight.

Ice had been third place that week, after all; it wasn't at its strongest.

The other Gaoler chuckled, "You were born in Ice's grasp. Your father was bound to a life-long deal."

"Demons make deals, not deities," Sandal finds herself interrupting.

She flinches as the surrounding temperature plummets, piercing even her fur and chilling her to the bone. Her breaths leave her in clouds of steam, and she stumbles, heart hammering in her chest as if fighting the deep freeze currently worming its way deeper into her muscles. She's never heard of a Gaoler getting frostbite, though in all the stories, they'd been the Icewarden's perfect little guards, not wayward traitors gone running to other domains.

"You are my creation, an extension of my legacy!" The voice howls, enraged, "Without my intervention, you wouldn't even exist! Your bloodline, your father's progeny, would have been long dead!"

Sandalwood stands her ground. A shaky grin quirks at her features, and she defiantly hisses, "Father was an Imperial from birth. We were of Light first."

Something horrid ghosts across the possessed Gaoler's features. He considers his options, sensing scarce will to comply in Sandalwood's expression. He snarls and snaps, "You'll come to your senses. You all will." He steps back. "Gaolers belong to me."

"The Gaolers of Fire Flight say otherwise."

Conversations with the master of the frigid are always short. Possession, threats, banter, surrender, boredom; Sandalwood's grown weary of this same song and dance, tired of mindless compliance or fleeing. Her words have a bite to them, fueled by a deep malice that she's unsure she can hold back.

She can't help but sigh when the looming shadow fades, the natural glow of her father's eyes returning just long enough for him to lock gazes with her, his expression twisted with what she's unsure is pain or sadness.

Mully's body seems to lock up, barely suppressing shivers. His eyes flick about, pupils constricted into little pinpricks as if in fear. Then, all at once, his stance crumbles. He falls forward, the last throes of the deity's control melting from his body as he hits the sand.

Sandalwood watches, her confident grin falling back into neutrality. She sighs and trots over, her posture drooping. She curls up beside Mully, feeling her father's icy aura beginning to warm up again. Perhaps in his own quiet defiance, his true natural temperature is like that of a gentle flame, a great enveloping warmth that banishes all fear and cold. He's grown weary from his job, from his binding tie to Ice, and Sandalwood, addled with resent for the cold, has kept her distance for years, fearing the piercing glint of something else shimmering in his eyes.

She wonders when she last embraced her family, any of them...

In her peripheral sight, the driftwood's eventually claimed by the sea, swallowed into the unforgiving abyss. Perhaps, Sandalwood muses, neither Nature nor Water are for her.

She closes her eyes and smiles, dreaming of Imperials and the sun.
By princebirb08