• The breath is hotness in the frosty, spring evening. I see it play with the cold air in front of me, as if the clouds descended from the skies, into my lungs and back out again. I am not content. The air is becoming bitter, more and more so. I fumble in my pockets for something, but I can't find it. I must have dropped it. I kneel down into the damp grass beneath me, my shaking hands running over it, feeling the cold, wet blades running along them. In the warmth of the day, they tickle my hands, but in this cold night, they feel like knifes. I feel it. A piece of rock... Flint. This is would help me see in the dark. I find another rock, this time normal, and I kneel before a bed of damp leaves, and branches. My hands hit the two rocks together and create a spark. But it isn't enough. I try again, and it catches a single dry leaf. That is enough, I blow on it, and the small child grabs onto more, slowly, and slowly, it begins to grows. It plays with the air coming from my chapped lips. I can see it now, the brilliance of it. Its blue-green soul, its wonderful orange hues twirling it's arms around my breath. I sit back now, on the damp earth, feeling the warmth, as the dancer rises before me. She is shy still, barely lighting up, before she lets out a crack, and begins to dance a little more vigorously. My body sways watching her. Her wide hips move side to side, front to back. Her hands raising to the sky above her. She dances with the slight breeze that's begun around us. She warms me up inside my body and out, as I watch her dance. I won't touch her, but I will feed her more so that she stays dancing. Her rhythm is the crackle she makes with every move. The blue-green is the center of it all, and dances the most beautiful, everything just assists her. I have nothing left to feed her, and her dance slows. I can feel to cold again, and I know I am frowning. She almost seems to weep, her arms slowly returning to her chest, down her waist to rest at her side. She only sways slightly now, her center growing ever the more dimmer. I can almost see my breath playing with the cold air before me again, imitating her. It is a sad imitation. I don't want her to go... So I raise the jacket that has been keeping the cold from my arms, and I feed it to her. The coldness bites into me, creating bumps as it slides over my arms. But she comes to save me, fighting over the coldness with her warmth, with her dance...and all I can do is smile, and chant to her. "Dance Fire Temptress Dance..."