This post has the following content warnings:
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
Xue Meresankh supposes she's had a relatively normal childhood. For as long as she can remember, she's pushed the family's carts to and fro, up to the mountains controlled by the Golden Sword school to gather ice, then down the valley step by step. Her father forges ice to keep the real ice cold, and her mother keeps the rest of the shipments cool by gathering the cold to it with her ruler techniques. She can barely help preserve that ever-important ice, but she cycles with it every day as best she can, trying to push her boundaries, to become strong for her family. It's not her fault she's an Enforcer.
She's dreamed of more for a long time. She wants to be stronger, to be able to do something more than be a beast of burden. She's not clan, and never will be clan, but she can try anyways. She has her pride.
Up go the carts, down go the carts. She spends time in the icy madra of the frozen mountains as much as she can, on their few visits. Where the air is cleaner it's easier. She pushes, pushes, trying her best. Her cycling feels off, though, like it's missing something. Her instincts are good, but she feels achingly incomplete every time she tries to push higher.
She makes Copper at ten; her family call her a prodigy. She wants to be more, though. She dreams of being a Gold, serene and powerful. Strong enough to make the clans bow to her, rather than her having to bow to them. The cold in her heart schools her against voicing her thoughts aloud, though. She's young, but for a child she's diligent and bright.
Up go the carts, down go the carts. It's still not quite right. Ice isn't her path. There's something more.
She finds herself drawn to the saws they use to carve up the ice. They're always there, every time she channels. They feel right.
She tries drawing sword madra as well, and it feels right. The sense of incompleteness fades a little. It's easier. She makes Iron at fourteen, and fights off the remnant of a spirit cougar at the age of fifteen, tearing at it with clawed hands and a body that's armoured in numbing cold. That, if nothing else, finally makes her feel a little happy. She's protecting those she cares for.
And yet she still feels incomplete...
Sometimes she dreams of a handsome boy coming to sweep her off her feet. Sometimes she can almost see his face when she's asleep. She's learning new things now, as she grows, from other girls her age she meets on the road. It's amazing what you can pick up when you travel enough.
Sometimes she dreams of being held in strong arms and having a man's lips graze her forehead. Sometimes she dreams of... more than that. She has an overactive imagination.
She's seventeen, and Iron. That should be enough for anyone, right?
