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Even without his sense of vision or the passage of time on his side, Kimahri could sense that his appeal to the spirits of the mountain had been answered in full. The silken stranger prepared to conjure more magical lightning, taunting the beast-man to evade as he had the last time, yet the Ronso merely straightened out his posture, defiantly slamming the foot end of his spear into the driven snow. Despite the differences in their motives and mentalities, the two fighters were both possessed of the same thought as each other: this farce didn’t need to continue any further.[break][break]

As the rumblings of the earth grow even louder, a bolt of panic instantly strikes both of Kimahri’s foes, the trespasser and their pet dragon, and the former screams out a venomous insult to little effect. The guardian could virtually taste their fury, it was so palpable in the cold spring air; the sorcerous cretin wanted nothing more than to inflict unspeakable torments against him, a ‘mere animal’, one they were convinced with utter certainty could not comprehend or speak human language.[break][break]

Unable to perceive the mage in mauve mounting the back of his dragon, Kimahri simply bowed his head with closed eyes, kneeling to the ground with one hand resting against the Spirit Lance. There was no need to see when he could hear the creature with argent wings warble and chuff like a scared mouse, stamping its claws to and fro as the avalanche grew louder and louder with every second that passed.[break][break]

With a single flap, the great beast launches itself off the mountain side, to which Kimahri steels his nerves for the impending rush of sheer white, silently imploring the departed spirits of his Ronso brothers and sisters, and all those who came before, to protect him one more time. He alone could not survive the crushing wave of snow that was about to head for him, but with their help—[break][break]

In an instant, Kimahri disappears beneath the mountain’s fury, along with the field of flowers, sending powdery clouds rolling over the cliff’s edge as if they were still liquid in form, creating a titanic snowfall as beautiful as it was deadly. What seemed like minutes lapse, and eventually, the snow ceases all further descent down the slopes.[break][break]

Only deathly silence remained.[break][break]

Eventually, after it would have drawn serious concern from anyone else, a clawed blue hand shoots its way out from beneath the snow, gripping against the closest solid chunk it could find until the second one found its way free, clutching onto something yet scrambling for more to grip against. Once they obtained a proper foundation to hold onto, the two arms pulled down with all their might until Kimahri’s head and neck followed suit, gasping for precious air as he finally breached the surface.[break][break]

It took far less time to excavate the rest of himself from the mountain’s suffocating grasp, especially since he had used the Spirit Lance as an anchor to keep himself from being pulled off the edge of the cliff; by praying to the fallen for aid, Kimahri was further rewarded with a burst of vital energy in the form of the White Wind, which kept him from being killed outright. For any other beast or fiend, this avalanche would have become an icy tomb without any shred of doubt.[break][break]

It was a shame that mage considered him to be just another fiend, or else they might have bothered to stay and finish the job.[break][break]

Which made them both incompetent for not doing so, and a coward for fleeing.[break][break]

As the oppressive magics impeding his senses of vision and movement began to dissipate, Kimahri could make out the fading silhouette of the silver dragon and its rider growing smaller and smaller, until they disappeared over the untamed horizons of Sonora’s wilderness. An indignant snort flies from the Ronso’s flared feline nostrils. All bark, and no bite. He shook himself free of any loose snow particles, as if to brush away their noxious presence and put them out of mind for good.[break][break]

He gazed down at the immense blanket of snow his actions had created, remorseful that he had to rely on such extreme measures to keep that stranger from exploiting nature’s bounty, but safe in the knowledge that their ambitions had been foiled, however momentarily. Flowers can always grow again.[break][break]

Reminded of this, Kimahri looked down at his closed fist and allowed his fingers to unfurl so that its contents—the last remaining vestiges of the flowers that once sat peacefully upon Mount Hotan—scattered to the winds in a gentle dance, a token of renewal, and a promise of hope for the future.[break][break]

The Greenmother had won, this day.[break][break]

That was Kimahri’s victory.[break][break]

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