Still shivering, Leander looked about himself and noticed the two paths opposite him that would lead inward. Bleakly, he wondered which might serve to take him to the heart-shaped pond. As he considered either direction, the wind began to change. Tendrils of heat reached him, and he could feel the way the unseasonal breeze started to thaw him from the inside out. The ice on his fur melted away and the chill of his bones slowly dissipated as he stood in it, soaking it in appreciatively until he felt blessedly warm – but it didn’t last.
Once more, the air grew cold.
The skies darkened.
The storm came.
By the time he had taken a few steps forward, he could hardly make out the two well-worn paths he’d beheld so clearly only minutes ago. He knew there were others – he’d seen their figures dotting the sand further up the beach, though he’d been too far behind to recognize any of them – and now there is little chance of his catching up to them. Besides, Leander knew he could not dare to venture in any other direction besides the one he’d finally chosen for fear of losing his way entirely.
Through the chaos of the storm, he went left.
Had he actually felt warm when the wind had changed, or had he imagined it? He certainly didn’t feel warm anymore. Keeping his head low, a relentless barrage of gale and snow attacked his progress. His brown eyes fought to remain fixed upon the well-worn path underfoot against the icy sleet. His cough worsened, the sickness exacerbated by the subzero temperatures. Every part of him became frost-tipped and frozen. But the splashed stallion knew that if he stopped moving, he might not start again – so he kept going. One step, and then the next. Despite the ache of his wingless shoulders, the weakness of his muscles and the sickly spasm of his lungs, the cold in his very veins, Leander pressed on.
But to where?
He was sure to find out.
