03-12-2022, 07:44 AM
The rhythm of Myrna's life has always included winter stillness. She has not chafed at the quiet that descends with Hyaline's snow, instead enjoying the serenity of her solitude. She spends most of her days alone, leaving her family before there is enough light to see color, and returning when the western sky is painted with winter sunset.
Such a sight silhouettes the young mare today: red-orange clouds so bright that she must narrow her eyes to appreciate the beauty in the west. As she does, the mane along her neck and back changes from snowy white to every shade of the sunset overhead. It accentuates Myrna's pale gold coat, as do the glowing white horns that crown her head and illuminate her path as she picks her way across the snowy path.
As she descends into the valley, a soft snow begins to fall. She begins to move toward the forest, where the pines keep off the deepest snow. The light in the sky continues to fade, until Myrna is an unmistakable glowing beacon in the winter forest. There is no danger to hide from here, and though she is capable of dimming the glow of her matrilineal horns, Myrna rarely bothers. They’re useful, after all, like when she finds a set of fresh prints in the halo of light they cast.
“Hello?” She calls, seeing that the prints have not yet begun to fill with snowflakes, meaning that whomever had made them is nearby. It’s probably someone in her family, she thinks, most likely one of her sisters or possibly even the newly-returned Malik.
“Who’s there?”
Such a sight silhouettes the young mare today: red-orange clouds so bright that she must narrow her eyes to appreciate the beauty in the west. As she does, the mane along her neck and back changes from snowy white to every shade of the sunset overhead. It accentuates Myrna's pale gold coat, as do the glowing white horns that crown her head and illuminate her path as she picks her way across the snowy path.
As she descends into the valley, a soft snow begins to fall. She begins to move toward the forest, where the pines keep off the deepest snow. The light in the sky continues to fade, until Myrna is an unmistakable glowing beacon in the winter forest. There is no danger to hide from here, and though she is capable of dimming the glow of her matrilineal horns, Myrna rarely bothers. They’re useful, after all, like when she finds a set of fresh prints in the halo of light they cast.
“Hello?” She calls, seeing that the prints have not yet begun to fill with snowflakes, meaning that whomever had made them is nearby. It’s probably someone in her family, she thinks, most likely one of her sisters or possibly even the newly-returned Malik.
“Who’s there?”