O' Murchadh, adopted son of Winter. In battle he would beckon - extending an invitation to his adversary to dance. The crunch of snow, the cracking of ice, the howling of a polar wind. Sounds of the natural world brought together and whipped into a bolero of bitter cold. Musical accompaniment to a battle that would showcase the savage beauty of winter.

Time itself would seem to pause and hold its breath as the temperature plummeted towards absolute zero. Snowflakes falling in slow motion and plants swaying in the wind going into suspended animation. Only the sound of the two warriors breathing heavily, the selkie and his opponent, would rise above the symphony of the world gasping as the icy fingers of winter took it by the throat and squeezed. All sources of heat and movement sapped away. Fingers numb as they grasped their weapons, neither combatant reacting as they traded blow after blow.

Like the harvestman come to reap the last of the yearly offering; it would often be the bite of the seal's scythe that would end the struggle. Even were the blow not fatal, no wound caused by that weapon of fey-forged frost would ever truly know warmth again. In this manner they would come one step closer to understanding the selkie whom they had fought. For the comfort that warmth could bring was a mercy denied to him, too.

Denied of something so crucial as tenderness, they would seek out battle as he did. A means by which to quicken the blood and make emotions that had been frozen briefly thaw and feel some semblance of life again. Those who managed to prevail against the seal in combat, those who fell beneath his scythe; in their own ways both outcomes served the selkie equally well. For to one at once blessed and cursed with the barren power of winter, sweet victory and bitter defeat were each to be savoured when compared with the constant numbness he lived with as a consequence of what he had become.

O' Murchadh, adopted son of Winter... he whom few saw smile with feeling. Few ever dared risk themselves in battle to break the ice around his heart. Thus, his true smile remained a secret and mysterious thing.

*****

Power shapes those who wield it, and to wield the might of winter is to know the best and worst of the season.

One of several pieces intended to represent battle poses for members of my cast, done by the magnificent cbh in their signature style.