by /nyx. » Sun Oct 27, 2019 2:04 pm
username: bmkmb
name: Winter Mare
halter colour: black
prompt: As the cold winds blew, Cilla's legs were getting weaker and weaker. Snow spun around her, not calm and beautiful, but in sharp blasts, threatening to knock her off her feet. It was a blizzard. One of the strongest they've had in years. Her herd was already far away enough that she couldn't see them, icy flakes blocking them from her view. The wind was blowing against her and she was going to get left behind. She knew she would. Her mother had been lost in the last Coldfrost, never to return. Of course it would be her destiny to die in the same way, too.
──
"A Winter Mare," he breathed.
"It's freezing."
"I know it is."
"Is... is it dead?"
"What?! Of course not!"
"Then what do we do?"
"We own a stable for a reason, Mack."
"Yeah, but how are we going to get it there?"
"...I don't know. We'll find a way."
──
Cilla woke up to warmth. It was warm. She relished it, shooing away the memories of the cold.
But... where was she?
Alarmed, Cilla stood up quickly, but her legs refused to do as she commanded. Before she even managed to stand, they buckled back towards to ground. Something in front of her opened up. She whinnied in distress. A tall, two-legged figure that had appeared, walked through the entrance to wherever she was and made some sounds. ("It's awake.")
There were more noises. ("Is it?")
A crash.
("What's going on in there?")
("Bring in one of the other ponies. Maybe we can get it to calm her down.")
Not much longer later, a strong-looking stallion was lead by the two-legger into her odd-looking cave. (She didn't know how else to describe it.)
He shook the two-legs' hand off the string he was being led on and looked down at her. Cilla stared up at him and allowed him to speak first.
"Welcome, Mare. What brings you to my noble barn?"
Barn? Was that where she was?
"Uh-I was left behind by my herd." Cilla was thankful that at least her voice still worked. Then, hope sparked through her. "Do you know where they went?"
The stallion jerked his head in denial. "Nay, I have not. From what I heard, you were found not far from here, frozen by the lake. I doubt you'll ever find your herd again. You know that, Foal, don't you?"
Cilla closed her eyes, letting the sorrow wash over her, but the stallion was right. Her herd was on a journey; they wouldn't pass through here again next season, nor ever. "Yes," she muttered eventually.
They let the silence wash over them, a stallion and a mare, grieving together for something that one didn't know. Finally, the stallion spoke. "I am Arendale, leader of this faithful herd. We are the Silver. They call you the Winter Mare, but what might your name be?"
"I am Cilla."
"Well then Cilla, you are accepted into my herd. Whenever you are ready, you may meet the others. For now, rest. I am sure that though you have lost your friends, you have all the chance to make more here. For I am Arendale, leader of the Silver. Good bye," and the stallion left as quickly as he had come. But for some reason, Cilla felt that Arendale was right. She would make new friends. Pushing her sadness aside she realized that, with Arendale, she had already made one.
