Meadow

You are the sun, it rises in your name and falls only when you allow it. You are beauty come alive, moving like snow on the wind. You are my son, strong and possessing in you a perfect that is unmatched by all others. Your skin is soft, and women will want to touch it. Your legs are quick, and you will outrun the darkness. There are people that will want to harm you, to cage up your exquisite beauty and make you their slave. You cannot trust anyone, for they are jealous, cruel things that want only to take the beauty from this world. You cannot let them take that from you. Valens, my sweet, sweet boy.

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His mother’s words were fresh in his thoughts. The delicate way she said his name, the way she brushed her lips against her hair. He was perfect. Perfect. There was a subtle curve to his body, light and built for speed. His legs, now dark and flecked with black and white had grown long and slender, and he had become quick and lean. Thin and generously painted with dark splotches of black, there is an effeminate quality to him. A sort of grace with the way he stepped, his toes dragging over the snow and carefully navigating the fallen trees and the bunches of grass that managed to spring free of the wintry blanket.

He had been unleashed on the world.

There is a curt little tune to his lips, a deep hum that rumbles in his belly and brings a jovial smile to his face. With dark hair carefully preened and set into place atop his brow, it was not unlikely that he would be mistaken for a woman at a distance. It was the carefully sculpted muscles that were carved into his neck that gave him away, arching his spine and dancing over the snow as if he truly belonged here.

The cold had never really bothered him- it was the way it brought clusters of fluff and hair to his flesh that made him irate. Vigorously scrubbing and scratching and preening, he had tamed the patchiness of his skin into a somewhat manageable coat. Like designer-wear, he wore the burl of his whiteness with pride, a sort of cleanliness about him that seemed unnatural. This was Valens, a dancer that had been born into the world under the sweet caress of the fall sun on the beach side.

Along the waterside, he moves, far up from the beach and just at the crest of where sand would have met grass, were it not covered in a thick blanket of snow. The song that he hums to himself is a cheerful one that rings prettily in his throat. He closes his eyes as he walks, bobbing his head to the music and smiling- a sight of pure bliss. He thought here, amongst the dead silence of the winter, he would not be interrupted...