:: Hatred ::
As flesh drifted over stone, a burst of flame erupted from the basin of the crucible. It flashed around me, hot and brief, before filling my spirit with a boundless, dark rage that consumed everything: thought, sight, sound, even memory.
That winter had been bitterly cold, most avoided leaving the warm solace of their homes, except in the direst of needs. All except me. Time and again, I was driven out into the snow by Marsenauk, sent out on errand after meaningless errand: fetch wood for the fires, ask the neighbors for some of their grain stores, bring his axe from the armory. I spent more time out in that freezing cold than I did within the confines of the house.
I remember how much pain I felt when the ice began accumulating in the curvature of my hooves. The ice sent lances of pain shooting up my legs with every step. I stopped frequently to try and chip some of it out, but the more I ran around the village on Marsenauk's orders, the more fruitless the endeavor became. I eventually gave up and just endured as I have always endured.
A Taureness from the village took pity on me, watching me struggle through the winter, icicles dangling from my horns, my hide laminated by a patina of frozen water. She brought me a blanket and some sort of leather socks meant to protect my hooves from the ice. I wasn't sure what to make of any of it; no one had ever bothered with kindness with me before. I stood there, clutching the gifts awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them.
It did not take me long, though. Soon, I had the socks tied securely around my hooves, already warming them to the point that the painful ice balls that had built within them began to melt, easing my pain. The blanket, I wrapped around my head and shoulders, trying to retain my body heat as best I could. This joy, however, would be short-lived.
Marsenauk saw me scrabbling my way across the frozen ground. In a rage, he shoved me down into the snow, tearing the blanket and socks away. Just as quick as he had pounced, he was gone, back inside where it was warm, leaving me alone and bereft out in the cold.
It was there in that moment, I realized how much I hated him. It burned like a sickly fire within my heart and was enough to see to it that I survived that winter and every winter that followed, just to spite him. I hated him enough to live, because all he had ever wanted was for me to die.
I jerked my hands away from the crucible, expecting them to come away burned, so fierce was the hatred that burned within me. Yet, as I stared down at my calloused hands there was nothing. Before me, the Crucible of Fire was filled with a red-gold light, almost as if waiting. Expectant.
Wounded, bleeding from damage not of the body, but of the spirit, I turned away from it, stumbling across to where the Crucible of Earth stood. I stared at it for a long moment, my hands trembling, unwilling to close the distance, yet compelled by that same feeling I had since reading that passage. I had no choice. It had to be done.