The quiet, cool moments of morning are precious to Myron. He kneels, ankles crossed underneath him, fingertips rest on the surface of the scrying pool, never breaking it. His eyes fly open, wide pools of gold glitter split by the vertical slit of his pupil. He rises seamlessly to his feet, his left hand gripping the bone hilt of his sickle. Exhaling slowly, hissing, the tips of his tongue, flicking, tasting the wind. A guard steps toward him, alarmed.
“Stay,” he commands.
The bones between his shoulder blades scream. He needs to be sure. Quick, silent steps carry him down the front stairs to the sands where he buries his feet. Thus anchored, he looks up to the sky and sees the beginnings of prophecies come to present. Still small, a lavender streak is newly and clearly visible against the lightening sky. If tales are true, then the Queen of Ice comes, seeking, injured, and bringing the abomination. Turning sand to glass.
Myron strides twenty long paces into the desert, and thrusts his arms to the shoulder, laying his cheek against the surface. The sands of the ascended.
He whispers, “Show me the way.”
Sand slides around his skin, cooling, soothing, calming.
“The prophecies leave much room to turn and twist. Some; turn a blind eye, some; wait until the dessert is touched, others; slay her when she arrives.” At the last the sand tightens, grating skin, drawing blood. Without thinking he covers his arms in scales. In response the sands flow away leaving him in a shallow pit.
Standing he sighs. He knows better, the ascended do not like to be interrupted. The air is already hot to breathe, drying his mouth. He covers the rest of his body in scales buying a few more moments in the presence of those who might have the answer to the question that stalks his every moment. For the life of him, Myron can’t figure out why he was chosen priest, chosen to lead others on a path he doesn’t understand, a path he isn’t sure he believes.
“I hope you come fortified Queen of Ice. I will do all I can, as little as that may or may not be.”
Turning, he heads back to the temple deaf to the answer of the ancestors.
That is all required.
Based on: take 450 words and write about sand. Though this part of the Snow White story it is a whole new character in a new land, one that was mentioned in Passing Notes.