tryout art for a dam--
- The first snow she saw carries a bittersweet memory.
Medea had been walking with her mother, Rhia, a older mare with a black coat flecked with silvered hairs. Medea was her mother's last foal, and being so, her mother doted on her a rather excessive amount. As Rhia once again began to fuss over her, Medea quickly ran from her and her mother, feeling rather frisky in the incoming cold weather, chased after her daughter. Medea soon outpaced her however, and ran around a bend and out of sight. Medea continued running and kicking up her heels, until a large crack suddenly threw her into a halt. Medea, swiveled her ears and determined that the crack had come from behind her. Panicking, Medea ran back in the direction she had come from.
Rounding the turn she had just come around minutes prior, Medea skidded to a stop, right before running into a large rock fall. Medea called for her mother aloud, trying to find a way around the pile, looking down the slope's rocky side, she spotted her mother's form lying prone among the snow. Medea ran and slid down the slope, scraping and bruising her fragile legs, no longer caring for safety. She stopped within ten feet of her mother, already seeing that there was nothing she could do. Her mother laid too still, no silver breath clouding the air, and her dark blood slowly staining the rock around her.
Medea stood stock still with legs splayed apart, trembling with her grief; when suddenly a flake of white fell through the air next to her. Medea watched as her mother's form was blanketed with a growing whiteness, softly burying her, peacefully, until all that remained was the red of her blood soaking through, making flowerlike patterns as it appeared. Suddenly realizing that she was now shivering from cold, Medea bid her mother farewell, promising that she would somehow make it up to her, promising that she would never forgive herself, promising that every first snow she would remember her spirit.
Medea has kept true to her promise, though she no longer blames herself for the freak accident that claimed her mother's life. Every first snow, Medea fasts for a day and builds a small memorial wherever she might be. She tends to use the flowers that are buried under the gentle flakes, much like her mother was so long ago.
its a little rough, and i'll edit the story if I get her to make it easier to follow.. sorry if this is overly depressing ^^
