You're really only very small, Fynnegan.

[Elfa]

And to see you're really only very small,
And life flows on within you and without you.
“Far too deep...”
In so many ways, this world is just not made for her (or her for the world — depending on your perspective). Not the other horses that tower over her like looming, hoofy giants; nor the felled tree that blocks her path, covered higher still with glistening, new snow. So high it is, that she cannot even peek over it, no matter how hard she cranes her neck!

But the winter?
Why, winter is made for her least of all.

Winter is knee high drifts to most. If only! Shoulder high to her!
Winter is particularly hungry fangies, and she'll be damned if she can run away in all this! Run away at all!

“Oh!” She stomps her little hoof on the ground, or tries, really. But the hoof is snugly held by the firm snow around her sunken leg — ruins the gesture a bit. So she tosses her shaggy head back, her thick white mane loosing its dusting of snow; it will do, along with the forceful snort of distinct displeasure. Sometimes, when you are small, you figure out how to make your feelings clear no matter the obstacles. Otherwise, nobody might notice at all! “Well, could have guessed,” It can almost never be a jolly little stroll to the Meadow. Or the Field, as it were. Realistically speaking, it could be a cat-fangie... or a dog one. Now that is perspective. And so Elfa, with much humming and hawing, wobbles backwards against the suck of the snow and the incompatibility of her little legs.

You learn to navigate with patience when you are small. Rarely, in the snow, is the first path the right one.

She finds another well-trodden avenue, just a fork in the forest back. This one thankfully clear, and dappled with soft, early morning sunlight. Around her, the snow catches it and glitters and high above icicles (menacing as they are!) twinkle like odd, frozen falling stars. No, winter is not made for her — it is cumbersome, and it makes her excessively fluffy in the worst of ways — but it has its undeniable charms.

When the little grullo mare finally moves from the trees and into the Field (well packed down by the big ones), she is nearly prancing. When you are small, and you are patient, you learn to take the world in stride.

But she had not considered, when she finally arrived... what exactly she would find. For girls like her, options are few. There are some... dimensional requirements, for it to really work.

Elfa.

Testing her style.. she may not be so... cutesy? but I'm trying to see if I can't maybe do something different with her :] pardon while we figure it out! She may be completely different next reply haha. I play serious ponies, so this is not my thing.