Morozko, instead of turning back to his cold mountain how, followed a trail leading down between Camlann and the mountains and found himself at the edge of a huge lake. He sat down at its edge, like a small child fascinated by a new toy. He reached out and frosted the grass growing at the lake's edge with a touch. It dusted over with ice and snow, becoming brittle. So beautifully brittle. He touched the surface of the lake, letting ice and cold spill from his fingertips. A delicate pattern froze along the water's surface, leaving Morozko smiling.

He was bored. Nothing held his interest long enough in this place. Nothing except...his mouth curved in a smile. as he touched the water again. this time the ice patterns danced and formed into the shape of a face. A woman's face. Elegant, beautiful, cold and deadly. She was the only thing the stay in Morozko's mind longer than a few moments, a few days. She'd been there since he'd found her.

And then he lost her, and hadn't found her again. Frowning now, he stood, hovering in the air as his own cold winds swept him from the ground. Perhaps there was something else that could keep his interest. If not, he would have to go find Mabb again, find what made her so compelling.

It was done. It had been easy, in the frigid heights of the cold Koude Reizen mountains, to build a masterpiece. An ice palace, a place he could call home, one that wouldn't fade and melt in the blinding sun like in the Blasted Lands. It was finally finished and Morozko took his time appreciating it. But appreciating wasn't enough. Not alone. He wanted someone else who could admire its beauty, its perfection. He knew of one woman who would. "Mabb." When he breathed out her name, it was like ice itself, frozen on his lips, and it made him shiver in delight. Mabb was cold, regal, elegant, and something about her just struck him, something besides her affinity for winter and ice and how it seemed to love her.

( He rose, frowning at the henchmen who skipped and slid through his perfect halls. )

The tunnels of the underground were far more expansive that Morozko had initially imagined. They twisted and winded like the snake inhabitants that called the place home. Mabb had been with him, at his side for some time, but somewhere along the way, Mabb turned left and Morozko turned right. After what felt like miles, his path turned upward, and riddled with curiosity, he followed it up and out.

Stepping out from what turned out to be a hollowed out tree above open ground, Morozko spied the land before him. The tree line ended some ways up ahead, and he could see structures, buildings. A town. He tilted his head up, checking the position of the sun. It was early evening, the sun heading towards settings. The blazing heat was gone, the unnatural weather of that foul desert far behind him. What lay ahead was unknown, and so Morozko headed forward, entering the town about a half hour after he slowly set out.

His step was curious, wandering, even meandering. It was as though he could not walk a straight line, but not like a drunkard. He twisted and wove about a like a distracted child, taking in every sight and sound. The sounds of a tavern caught his ear, and he pushed open the door, stepping inside. It had been long, too long, since he had been anywhere near what constituted a crowd, and his slightly jumpy behavior was testament to it. He chose a lone table, the last one left open, and sat, staring with both intrigue and distaste at various parts of the decor.

They went underground. Morozko gaily followed the tunnel Mabb blasted through the floor of his ice palace, deep into the earth. It grew cooler as they descended, and Morozko took to trailing his fingers along the rock walls, leaving ice in intricate patterns in his wake. Tendrils twisted and joined, branched off and multiplied, in a convoluted dance of frozen water.

He glanced from time to time at his companion, sometimes favoring her with an enigmatic smile, sometimes looking at her as though he'd forgotten she was there. He seemed more in control of his faculties now, but it wasn't perfect, wasn't one hundred percent. There was something still off about him that hadn't quite gone away.

( He made another ice ball like he'd been playing with before, twisting it, letting it run over his fingers )

When ice melts it runs, runs like clear blood down any path it can find or make. Morozko didn't like melting ice, but the blood flowing and collecting, pooling and dripping; he thought it could be pretty. Soothing. Even if it was his.

( Whispers )