A frail boy mounted atop a black-furred direwolf trod through a lonely mountainous village, garnering a few curious stares from the residents they passed by. It was a simple town, a congregation of houses cobbled together from mountain stone and pine wood. Though both the boy and the wolf had traveled over many miles of snowy crags to arrive in Akashima, neither of them felt the keen bite of the cold winds howling past them. For Daugi, this was thanks to her thick fur coat. For Fenn, it was because of his unfreezing blood and his innate affinity for icy magics.

Fenn needed some help with this magic, and he needed it now.

Lately, the little Fae had found himself quarreling with his powers. There was no better way to describe it. It was stronger than it had ever been before, and it was getting out of control. A series of recent incidents were weighing heavily on his mind - of giving frostbite to those who touched him, of accidentally pulling an icicle out of thin air, of causing small hail storms when there should have only been snowflakes.

As it turned out, other Frost Fae were very hard to find, and none of the magic users he knew had any idea how to work with his particular brand of iciness - even Vincent didn’t understand what was wrong with his tiny friend.

So, Fenn had sought out someone who could help him learn how to better use his magics before they ending up using him.

In searching for a capable teacher, he had heard hushed rumors about a man of great power (perhaps more god than man) who could work wonders with the elements. What had caused Fenn to seek this man out was a whisper that one of the elements this man supposedly held control over was ice. The boy's solid green gaze narrowed and unconvinced as he surveyed the quaint settlement. This cute little town clinging to the mountainside was home to the ice master’s dojo? Could’ve fooled him. As it was, Fenn had never been one to get lost, but this out-of-ways village was a place he hadn’t ventured into before. He bit at a hangnail as Daugi trod over snowy streets, sighing at the thought that he might have to spend a lot of time wandering around to find it.

Speaking of his mount; she was in one of her moods. Once or twice an hour, she’d give him a put-out glare over her shoulder, bright red eyes twitching in irritation. Fenn understood why. Upon her most recent glare, the boy dismounted her in one fluid movement and nodded back at the forest knowingly. Now’s as good a time as any. Sorry I kept you waiting -- we had a long ways to travel. Dismissed, good steed! he thought with a silent giggle that shook his shoulders. Leaving with nothing more than a grateful “Wuff!”, his hungry friend bounded off through the town and into the icicle-laden pine woods outside. Good hunting to you.

Left on his own in the foreign town, Fenn strolled through with his hands in his pockets and his cowl pulled over his head. He wondered, peering shyly around each corner, if he should attempt to ask one of the locals where the this dojo was.

Suddenly, there was calamity amid the houses to Fenn’s left. An alien music on the breeze wafted past him like an intoxicating perfume. Though he knew he was really needed to find that dojo -- and the sooner, the better -- he stopped and savored the sounds that serenaded his ears. Spicy, fast; it was composed of a medley of feral voices and wind instruments. In a sense, the upbeat song felt almost familiar to Fenn as it guided the little Fae’s feet towards it, calling to him with a voice he couldn’t ignore. Was it merely his curiosity dragging him through the streets? Or was it related to those dreams he kept having, of dancing and whirling endlessly with other fey beings?

The ice master could wait a little while. This, he had to find out now.

Fenn flew towards the source of the music on eager, stumbling feet. What he was greeted with was a gathering of people in an empty patch of land just inside the village, a sort of bare town square. The source of the music was a band of dancers and musicians garbed in colorful attire that seemed a little… thin for the weather, as if the cold meant nothing to them. Villagers were gathered around the merry band in celebration. Couples spun around with their hands clasped together, children laughed and shrieked above the din, and even the elderly stood in at the threshold of their houses to watch the festivities.

Fenn found himself bouncing a little in tune with the music. At first, he ventured into the crowd shyly, his hands still stuffed firmly into his pockets. As time went on though, he loosened up. His head bobbled with the beat, and he found himself moving in the same smooth way he did in his dreams of faerie festivities. Skipping, twirling, leaping, spinning underfoot. It was a miracle that he didn’t smack into anyone. His hood fell from his head as his cavorting intensified, his cloak flapping behind him, a pair of wings giving his dance flight. How easy, oh so easy, was it to get lost in the joyous song! There was something off about these glittering, gyrating dancers at the center of the celebrations. When they brushed past him, they radiated a warmth that tickled anyone who understood the feel of magic. It only set Fenn’s heart beating faster as he spun about with them. Possibly, he thought with a new brightness in his eyes, these might be more Frost Fae, cloaking themselves in some sort of illusion. But he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t ask what manner of being they were. The music moved too fast to allow him to slow down and discuss it. He was tangled and snared in the rhythm like a butterfly in a spider’s web.

A lithe woman in vivid red robes wove her way through the throng of people toward Fenn, her gleaming golden gaze easily keeping track of his swooping movements. Messy crimson curls flew about her in a frizzy halo as she spun up to his side. He got the creeping feeling that she had been watching him for a bit. “My, aren’t you quick on your feet?” she commented above the music, flashing him a toothy grin. Her voice was a sultry, deep-throated purr. “May I have this dance?”

Fenn beamed back and took her hand with a quick twirl, flattered by the attention. Yet at the same time, his heart skipped a few anxious beats. This particular situation was uncannily akin to the addled dreams of dancing that often came to him at night.

And when someone beautiful approached him in those dreams, well, it never ended well.