In order to try for her, you'll have to give her a name related to snow and also write a short story for her(1000 words at most). I'll decide on a due date once I think there are enough entries. Also, the picture has no shading for now so the mottled skin and the spots on her coat can be better seen, but I can add shading in the end if requested.
Anberlin wrote:oh man oh man if this is still open then consider this a giant wip she gives me ideeeaaaas <3
Username: Anberlin
Name(must be related to snow): Nieve; A Spanish name meaning 'snow' or 'to snow'.
Type: Marcher
Height: 1,4 m
Gender: Doe
Story:
It was early, and it was dark. Nothing moved beyond the veil of settling snowflakes as they twisted in the breath of a morning breeze, steady and silent; nothing existed outside of her world, her quiet and gray world. Like a ghost, or perhaps a sigh of wind through the snow, she moved in the gentle cold; always forward, without hesitation, without sound. Small snowflakes settled in her long eyelashes and the delicate hairs in her ears, and there they froze. Little drifts caught between her shoulders and down her back, slipping down her withers and buttock when too much had gathered. Her mane was dripping with icicles, and her nostrils flared with each steady puff of white, misty breath. She didn’t notice the cold, however, and probably never would.
There wasn’t time for pause. She wasn’t traveling the night to sight-see, after all, and so she trotted onward, the semi-frozen plate of ice just above the snow cracking and giving way below her hooves. The only sound to be heard was that of the gentle, echo-less crunching; any other noise she made was swallowed by the grey. Weak moonlight was trying to break the silence, a shift in the swath of night giving unwilling way to a watery white gloss; she lifted her knees higher, puffed a little harder, moved a little faster to avoid that light as though it would cause her harm to be seen with a shadow beneath her. The icicles amongst her fur clacked against one another loudly in her haste and the snow powdered from her back like a cape of sorts, but she gave neither distraction even a sliver of her attention. She couldn’t afford to, not with the desire to flee so prominent in her thoughts.
The wind was picking up, the snow had stopped, and the air was growing thinner. She was moving higher up the mountain, and now when her hooves broke through snow they were hitting the exposed rock face underneath. Ahead of her were the winding cliffs of the mountain, their shadows a slightly lighter black against its heaving sides - her goal, yes, but there were so few trees. She would have to move carefully, and stay where it was darkest. The snow could not hide her, not now, and turning her head to hazard a glance over her shoulder, she was dismayed to see a small light nestled at the foot of the mountain. It was weak, but still quite noticeable in the otherwise uniform blackness of night, now visible to her without the snow to stifle its ruddy face. Worse yet, it was far closer than she had hoped it would be. Her breath hitched, and she shuddered; hadn’t she left it behind in the miles she‘d already marched? Steam was beginning to hiss along her back and neck, but still she pressed onward, hating the light and wishing the snow would again smother it from view.
The slope was now rocky and steep, but she was sure-footed and could not be foundered by terrain alone; no amount of snow or ice would stop her from fleeing the place she had once called home. She broke the snow along the edge of a cliff as a blast of icy wind from below pushed the ice from her eyelashes, her hooves coming to rest at what was quite the intimidating precipice. Spread out for her to survey now was a view of what could have been the entire world at the bottom of the mountain - what had been her entire world since birth - and from that spot she could see the Moon as it burst through the winter night. Bright arrows of silver light pierced the sky and flooded the snow-choked valley below, ignorant of the clouds and the snow and the flurries; her valley, her beloved home, now showing the telltale marks of human invasion. She was both furious and frightened, and could smell the scent of her own kind being carried on the wind along with that of fire and metal.
She lowered her eyes and sighed, the fog of her breath catching in her beard. They may have been compliant to the hands of humans, allowing themselves to be tamed when their only other option was to brave the deep-winter mountains. They would not have made it on the cliffs, most likely, but she could. She could resist the bit and bridle, if she was willing to pitch her thick coat against an angry winter. She was big, and she was strong; her coat was thick, and her will was solid. It hurt her to leave her home and her herd, but she had to.
She turned from the cliffside and, without a second glance, continued on her way.
