Common

She dreamed of running on four furred paws over hard-packed ice that glittered like diamonds beneath the full moon. It was so vivid that she could feel the frigid brush of wind against her unprotected nosetip as it slipped down into her lungs, invigorating her from the inside out. Just beneath the crisp scent of pine and earth was the scent she was looking for, the tang of blood that promised a hot meal and a full stomach. She moved soundlessly over the frozen landscape, ears alert for the faintest sound until - just there - she found it: the quiver of prey just beneath the surface.

She was so close she could almost taste it, could imagine the crush of sinew and bone between her teeth. Saliva filled her mouth, dampening her lips as she crept closer on quiet paws, her slender body held almost flush with the earth until she was close enough to lunge-

She woke with a start, already halfway upright from where she'd lain prone whilst she slept. Steam billowed from her nostrils as she sank awkwardly into a sit, not yet wholly certain of where she was or why she was there. The ground before her was half-frozen, but even dusted in autumn's first snow it bore the marks of her restless sleep, the ridges and furrows she'd dug turned into stiff, icy peaks that crumbled as she rose the rest of her way to her feet.

Ingrid remembered now, that she was on the Crossing again, likely far enough inland that she'd crossed the unspoken barrier between the Falls and the Commons. She wasn't really sure what had possessed her to take such a risk, only that watching and waiting for her sanguine friend to show again wasn't really suiting her. She'd lamented the lack of a cohesive narrative here on the islands the last time she'd spoken with Ma'alruin, and he'd laughed at her and called such chaos beautiful.

She hated that she was beginning to see his point. The lack of commonality and culture still baffled her mind, but she had grown used to people looking at her blankly when she mentioned the old ways. She didn't think she would ever fully understand a people who chose to blasphemy the gods by naming their children after them, but such was not her cross to bear. Ingrid had taken no lover and found few friends since coming to the islands, and the long winter nights of solitude seemed less appealing as they got closer.

Perhaps she had spent too much time looking for a story she should have been writing this whole time.

The monochromatic mare shook herself off and moved away from her bed, seeking the open meadow of the Commons for sustenance. Snow had fallen, but it was neither deep nor heavy, and brushed aside easily as she lowered her muzzle to graze. Either the gods would deliver her future to her, or she would find a way to seek it, but Ingrid was done waiting. Something had to give.