Meadow

Winter unleashed its fury on Crossing, ice and snow cutting into the world like daggers seeking to pierce the flesh of any who dared leave the safety of their shelters. Zharko could only imagine the horrific union between storm and sea as the two entities rose to clash together. He watched and could not decern if it was passionate love or rage that played out in the waves before him. As the waves roared above the wind, he knew nothing would be able to pass through the waters and live to tell the tale. His search would be on the icy sands, and he would be looking for a corpse.

Small for his breed, and smaller for his age, the colt still stepped stubbornly through the sleet as it raked through his hair and over his thin body. Death had not claimed him yet, his determination would see to it that it wouldn’t. Each step he bared his teeth, knowing his aim and knowing he would not like what he found. Or worse, what he did not find. Age had not given him the strength to masterfully move through the drifts, life had so far stolen his chance to learn. His first winter was hell bent on taking everything from him, his nature refused to give it up so easy. Face thrown into the wind, he pressed on through the meadow, small dark form nearly lost in the white out that surrounded him.

A voice sounded over the roar of the wild winds. Ears still pressed against his flesh for warmth, the colt looked up in the direction of the call. There was no way a true creature could be out in the storm and survive. The horse that summoned him was an unreal sight to be seen. Turning to face this new beast that came for him, Zharko held his head high and ears flattening further against his skull. If you are death, I will not! the boy snarled at the form that materialized before him, hazy and unclear in the ice. He stood his ground, ready to fight Death if need be.