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[ironside_pixie]

The cold bitterness of winter tends to drive people inside. They don't like it too much. It's harsh and uncomfortable when the burning heat of indoors brings feeling back to your extremities. So not many people are outside, in the midst of winter, despite it's frigid beauty

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[lethe_forgets]

Lethe has never found any real reason to dislike winter.

Words, even silent ones, make shapes in the air - and the snow catches sunlight, tosses colors, like glass. She has this friend, you see, one who makes the snow. Oh, and the lake is almost frozen enough that anyone can walk on it.

There's a faint chime (sliver bells around one ankle) as Lethe drops down beside her - just two sudden shocks of color in a world of powdery white.

[lethe_forgets]

There's a place - just beyond the dark parts and closer to a cave where flowers grow and dreams are made - her place, where she keeps the treasures of millions of stories. Piled high in tall, shimmering towers that lean and tumble together the products of all sorts of ages. An almost lovely place.

It's a good sword, Lethe thinks, as far as swords go. Not a perfect thing - rough at the edges and battered and she wonders who's story it belongs to, what things it has seen. She vaguely recalls warm eyes and strong hands and it is enough - she is satisfied.

It's a good sword. And now it is theirs.

The smile is slow, crooked and imperfect as she nods, eyes bright on Kaye's. See? There is magic you can still do all on your own.

[ironside_pixie]

It is not her magic at all. Borrowed, something completely Lethe's, all she did was imagine.

The girl runs her fingers over the narrow, flat side of the sword, knowing that even now it's dangerous. She's silent because Lethe is and there's nothing at all to say. They have a sword. The thrill of it is enough to dry out her mouth and make her laugh nervously.

"What now?"

When she stares at the Nymph's face it's easy to imagine what kind of answer she might give.

"We go kick some ass." Kaye smiles.

[lethe_forgets]

Most magic is imagination. It's just a matter of putting the power behind it and that's what friends do - (isn't it?) - let you borrow when you are running low.

One slender eyebrow raises and the smile quirks into a smirk - wicked and wild and perhaps it's a bit strange on her but she likes it. It's something like feeling alive again - feeling awake again.

A nod and she bows with a flourish of fingers (something borrowed) hair in her eyes, feet in the snow - presenting Kaye with her sword.

And off to battle.