King of Winter

His cloak is billowed in the icy wind that carries him South. It scarcley covers his shoulders before it whips off behind him. Beneathe the grey pelt , his shoulders are bare: knotted and muscular. They drive his team of snowy wolves with power and grace, to the bottom of the world. His hair, as black as the icy night, is flecked with bits of frosted silver, and it whips around his head as he goes. Winters face is stony. His long sojourn has made him hungry for the submittance that his presence will bring. Warmth will bow to the Cold. Light will give in to the weight of Night. And Life...that precious dance of passion and heat.... Life will submit to his frost-bitten sleep.
But Winter has a dance of His own. The flurries of cold stirred by faries that whisk around on the air. Patterns of ice that grow across the waterways and crystals of frost that will fringe the leaves and grasses of the world. Soft and fragile... and beautiful.
A shiver of delight crawls across his skin, and his lips curl into a rare smile as the lands of the South finally come into veiw. The people have waited long for his arrival, and finally he is here. Soon, they will sleep, and all that will be left is the Cold?