The air grew crisper upon the mountain, as it always did this time of year. When inhaling, it stung the nostrils and filled the lungs tightly, the discomfort making a once effortless task laborious. Yet the mares who lived at such a high altitude quickly grew accustomed once more, and the rest of winter was typically more comfortable.

Mouse’s favorite part about early winter was the snow. The transition from autumn brought the fluffy, fat flakes that settled in a soft blanket on everything in sight. They were so much different than the needling flakes brought in on the gusts of wind typical of later in the season. In addition, the crossing was beginning to receive its own accumulation of snow, which heightened the quality of the view from her typical perch. Autumn leaves that still clung to trees below were laced in frost, and ice was forming on the banks of the pool at the falls. It was a glorious sight, in her opinion.

The grulla heard a distant clatter as hooves began to connect with the rocky surface above the tree line. Initially, she assumed that it was another of the Peak women coming to enjoy the view. Eventually, the rhythmic scraping stopped, however, and her interest was piqued. Turning from her lookout, she wandered in the direction of the footsteps. When she turned around a boulder, she spotted a flashy figure.

This mare was not one she had seen before. Her entire body was almost white, save for her head and a few black patches. Mouse stopped, keeping a respectable distance between them, and uttered a whinny of greeting. Pausing for a moment, she then introduced herself. “I’m Mouse. Who are you?” Her tone was reserved, but not unfriendly. After all, any mare was welcome here.