The strong exhale of winter nearly froze your bones, seeping beneath the surface of your concealed flesh and curling its forceful presence around the delicate structure, as though it might just crumble your skeleton to dust. The change of the season bled through the atmosphere slowly, like that of a spreading flame and yet, when the first of December rolled around like clockwork, winter fell upon the Earth as if it had never left.
For there was a certain level of comfort the bitter cold derived from engulfing the souls below, in such a powerful gust of frigidness that it nearly paralyzed those who weren't expecting the chill. All the while, leaving those scrambling for a semblance of warmth that simply did not exist in the forgotten streets of Small Heath.
The wind soared through the atmosphere, immersing you in a strong breath of December cold, as it whipped through your tendrils left free to the open air and tore across any exposed flesh it could find. For it felt as though the cold that blew like it were merely an exhale from the lips of Father Winter himself, might just freeze you were you were knelt.
Frost collecting on the fallen strands of your locks, that even beneath the protection of your warm blue velvet hat, remained vulnerable to the elements around you. Your dress, concealed by two layers of a long cardigan and heavy wool coat, were still not enough to banish away the presence of such formidable cold. For it permeated your each and every breath, soaring down into the cavity of your chest along the current of your shallow inhale, only to freeze you from the inside out.
The ground, solid and impenetrable as if only the hand of God had the power to break through the surface laced with leftover soil and icy frost, seeped into the concealed skin of your knees. Kneeling against the Earth's surface, the cold that had settled into the very foundation your shoes had walked across, soaked into you as if it were mere rainwater for the taking.
Staring down at the soil left dried and nearly lifeless beneath you, as your eyes falter down to witness your kneeling upon the Earth, your breath freezes around your frame. For as you exhale softly, a mere trickle through the part in your lips, the cold clings to the evidence of your warm breath and freezes it before your eyes. Like that of a cloud of smoke, billowing out from between your lips nearly blued by the dusk's strong cold, floating out into the frigid atmosphere like the evidence of your presence might just linger in the cusp of the sky forever.
It was a perplexing notion, that as the Earth suffered in the cold that the elements inflicted upon the poor and wounded souls below, that the sky could be engulfed in a sense of warmth that was left visible to those searching for a source of just that. The cloud coverage was dense as they hovered above the outskirts of Small Heath and yet, out here where there was a bit more land than cobbles, light broke through the haze.
For the sky was a contrast of dark clouds, nearing the shade of deep indigo blue of the impending night, as dusk embraced the atmosphere, and a warming pierce of lingering marigold. The lasting evidence that the sun had indeed been present that day, that it hadn't just been dormant within the clouds and left those below aching for the heated beam of sunlight. Only a trace, as it cut through the coverage of the growing evening shadows in thin streaks, as if it were a color upon an oil painting that was running out.
The light of the falling sun painted the backdrop of his sudden arrival, but perhaps, it was the shadows that truly accentuated his presence. Clinging to the wool of his long black coat that flapped at his sides, as the surrounding wind refused to leave even Thomas Shelby unscathed by its powerful and frigid touch.
For you weren't sure if it was the soft crunch of his steps upon the cold and destitute land that alerted you, the familiar scent of tobacco slowly seeping through your next inhale, or if it was merely the fact that Thomas caused a visceral reaction within yourself, leaving it impossible to ignore or remain oblivious to his presence, that told you he had found you. All the way out here, amongst rows and rows of old and tarnished headstones and an Earth that nearly resembled the death the resided six feet below your knelt knees. But you'd realized fairly quickly in this life, that if Thomas Shelby wanted to find you, he would do just that.
