The heart of the new frost was thick with downy snow. Untouched, untroubled, the first among many. It piled in layers, like feathers; some to worship the wind, some to silence flight. Magic slicked through it, liquid beneath the fine particles, a golden radiance spreading from beneath Florian's hooves, an undercurrent of energy sluicing beneath the frost. Each pulse, each wave, melted the covering snow, bringing life back to the earth beneath, a reminder of the sun's love that still strode towards the earth below, a memory of warmer times, of flowing water and reaching blades of grass, striding evermore towards the sky; a circle, a cycle, a moment of rebirth. Forever and ever, unending. The snow caved to heat, and heart, and time, as it always did, striding towards the sky, revealed under the melt of winter. A promise, a font, of new life, nourishing the frozen soil, a color long hidden beneath a veneer of white. The snow hissed and sighed as it returned to its true form, to the water given by the sky, that rebellious child, falling in a different image than its mother had designed it in. From beneath the soft glow of Florian's feet, it hissed and sighed, the barest touch of heat reminding it of its birth, of where it came from; it yearned its way up to the sky with delicate hands, whisping away in the harsh breath of the wind. His magic did not burn; it was not so graceless enough as to render injury. It coaxed, and it goaded, and it sluiced through the drifts like lifeblood returning to a heart, to an empty atrium, to a ventricle long pumping empty air. A thousand miniature suns, reflections of the burn of their source, reaching newborn hands to the sky, as though they could beseech their massive replicant to gather them in arms and bring them home. A mosaic of refracted light, the warmed earth beneath Florian's magic, beneath the heat of his heartbeat, conjured a thick sent of wet dirt, of petrichor, and of spring, so motley, so scorned as it caked flesh and stained marble, as it clung to young limbs and gave rough texture to the smooth and the cleanly. As Florian's spell deepened, the boundaries between winter and spring became thin, and blended, the former giving way to the latter, not resisting in throws and sharpness, but yielding, melting, and softening. In one fleeting moment, the world exhaled, warm breath and flaring nostrils, bones breaking through the ice and contracting with snowmelt, comforted for a moment; a respite in the driving snow and bleakness of the season. An end to the eternal, and a glowing light that stretched towards the horizon. A promise of end to the endless, and a beginning to the cycle, captures in the flame of Florian's magic.