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The snow that blanketed the lands here was strange to her. The quiet way it fell from the sky, softly landing on the cold ground and collecting there in soft, white bunches. It almost reminded her of the sands of her homeland, save for the way it crunched below her feet. As silent as the snow came from the sky, it gave itself away the moment it was traversed.
Nekharat made no secret of her arrival back on the Crossing, walking without hurry some distance from the shoreline, purposefully creating a path through the freshly fallen snow. Though she was not exactly pleased with the difference in temperatures between here and Salem, she did not think waiting for the seasons to turn merited enough of a reason to delay her investigations.
She stopped for a moment to admire the silhouette of the jagged Peak through the mask of the grey sky—the place where the mare Amduat had said she came from. She wondered silently what made it different, and who ruled such a place. In time, she hoped she would find out.
The tune of a song broke her focus on the faraway mountain, and over the crest of the small hill came another—a tall, svelte stallion with a coat like she had never seen. Deep black and impossibly white with a mane and tail as thick and long as undiscovered summer grass. He bobbed his head and strut along the edge of the snowbank, so in the moment she wondered if her presence would startle him.
She flicked her tail and tilted her head, her thin coat shining as the sun began to melt away the clouds. She watched him with a small smile of amusement until he was close enough to engage in conversation.
“Afternoon,” she called.
NEKHARAT
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