The return of the snows marked a full year since Sable had abandoned her sister and come to the islands for a new beginning. In that time, she had been to numerous islands – each with a unique ecosystem to explore – and met numerous equine, all of whom had been friendly and more than happy to make her feel at home. Still her mind whirled with the memories... Yet her heart was more troubled than ever. Something still was missing: something she could not put her hoof on.
So she had returned to the very first island, the one that had marked the beginning of her journey, and had remained in isolation for months. She had told herself it would be good for her to give herself space away from others – space to reflect on what it was exactly that she wanted out of this new life – but, of course, loneliness had soon set in and engulfed her completely. It had been a mistake to think that she could thrive anywhere else but amongst others. Sable needed company like she needed food and water. Without it, she could only imagine that she would wither away into nothing, like a flower in early snows.
So one day she set out to continue her journey, uncertain where she would go but placing one hoof in front of the other all the same. For days she travelled, her eyes on the mysterious swell of mountains in the distance, and it was during this time that winter truly strengthened its grip on the island, blasting a front of freezing air and flurries across the land. Sable was grateful that her winter coat had grown in fully this year, for as much as she liked snow, she despised the cold.
When the earth began to slowly rise beneath her, she knew had had finally hit the foothills, but she continued on nonetheless, walking until her knees buckled each evening. The cold grew more and more intense the higher she climbed, until her lungs ached sharply with each breath. She kept her mind occupied with pleasant memories of Roslin (few that they were), and hummed quietly under her breath whenever a twig snapped ominously in the trees surrounding her. At night, when it was coldest and loneliest and her mind refused to succumb to sleep, Sable counted the stars.
Finally she awoke one morning with a scent in her nostrils that tickled her sleepy brain with a sense of deja vu. Mindless with curiosity, the young mare did not even pause for breakfast; she stumbled across the sloped, rocky ground, shattering the post-dawn stillness with the snapping of twigs and crunching of snow. Soon enough the word came to her, leaving her lips in a hopeful plume of condensation. “Satitb—?” The breath was ripped from her as one of her weary legs buckled. She went down, her chest hitting a rock concealed by snow and rebounding to send her tumbling, legs-akimbo, down the slope. She did not travel far, but it was enough to leave her in a stunned, snow-covered heap at the base of a fir tree, and certainly enough to attract the attention of any living thing nearby.
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