WINTER had set in heavy on the mountain. A blistering wind swept over the frost covered fields and aspens which rose high above the chestnut’s head. Her bright eyes blinked cautiously as she shuddered beneath a thick, matted winter coat. Tautoru had taken Giselle’s invitation to inspect the Vulcan Peak. Perhaps she could learn more about this mysterious chain of islands from the women who set themselves aside. There was something special about a woman who chose to stay her own against a man. Perhaps Tautoru was not one of them, but this did not mean she didn’t respect such a strong lifestyle. All in all however, the flaxen rabicano was confident that if the Vulcan’s could give her good advice on her surroundings, it would be a more trustworthy word than the tricky wish list of a stallion’s poetry.

HER climb was tedious, but her sure feet remained loyal and unwavering. Weaving her way through the trees she did not stop until the land ceased to smell of stallion; only of mare. Here, still inside the grip of a pocket of evergreens, blanketed in thick snow like the trees, the young phoenix dropped her head to the cold. Nosing at the snow along the base of a thick tree trunk, she uncovered sparse grasses, barely alive, and nibbled at them in the quiet, awaiting a Vulcan to appear from the white and welcome her.