Freewriting 6 - The Snow Toes

The toes were cold that year. Grey and miserable, they struggled laboriously through the blizzard and mire, waiting impatiently. Hoping desperately that the morning might come and that the sun, with all His blazing majesty, would throw fistful after fistful of furious, boiling typhoon and consequently send the Wolves of the Frost away on their heels. For this, the lost tribe of the Lucid Show Toes prayed and prayed. Year after solitary year they waited, watching the blizzard devour the landscape until their tears froze solid on those round, quivering cheeks. And, one by one, the Snow Toes perished, freezing like the tears, leaving a trail of little lumps beneath a downy coffin of snow. The Furred Octagon watched this from his tower of ancient ivory, and shook his head with compliant dismay. He was powerless to help the little Snow Toes since his wife, the famed Shrewid of Westgalore, had discovered his letters that he had planned to send to Cardinal Emelieu IV. Naturally she was furious, since these letters contained several humourous depictions of Emperor Langatnu that would tarnish the family's reputation, perhaps irreparably. The Shrewid had flown into a whirlwind of rage, burnt the letters and imprisoned the Furred Octagon inside a bubble of spite. And so he saw the Snow Toes through his spying eye, and was powerless to help them. And so the little Snow Toes froze, and were gone.