The past few months something has changed within Arkana: both physically and mentally. It’s more than the fact she’s now a grown mare, though she certainly owes the shift partially to that. It’s also more than the fact she’s spent so much of her free time lately travelling and visiting all the stallions she’s met, both on Luthien and elsewhere, though their company has certainly given her a different perspective on herd life and the prospects for her future.

No, it’s more than that. Growing up and broadening her horizons with experiences cannot explain how bloated she feels lately or how irritable and overemotional she’s become.

Then one cold winter night she dreams of a monster twisting within her, rippling in her abdomen and trying to tear its way out of her. She awakes to the dark, quiet forest dripping with sweat. And she knows.

When she wakes the next morning, the forest is cloaked in a pale blanket of snow. The ethereal sight lifts her spirits for the few moments before she remembers her predicament. A tangle of emotions - primarily guilt and fear - writhe in her stomach as her future flashes before her eyes. It’s not a future she had ever envisioned for herself this young, and she cannot think of a way out of it.

In silence, lest the rest of the still-sleeping herd hears, Arkana weeps.

By midmorning she has recovered but is still uncharacteristically withdrawn. She keeps away from the herd, hardly even eating as she contemplates her situation. She will need to tell her mother and sisters eventually, before it becomes too obvious to hide. Yet the thought of telling Evren quite frankly terrifies her. She is too fragile to endure the judgemental eyes or the sharp words of her mother right now, yet she must tell someone: someone who will have an idea of what to do; someone experienced but non judgemental who will not yell at her. Someone who will help her feel a little less like she is drowning.

Arkana knows instantly who she will talk to, but it takes her the rest of the day to summon enough courage to make her approach. By that time the sun is low in the sky, casting a sparkling golden glow on what little snow and frost had not melted in the course of the day. Arkana’s heart is in her throat, but she offers Persephone a smile as she approaches.

“Aunt Sephy,” she murmurs, her voice small and girlish as she gently touches the older mare’s muzzle with her own. “How are you?” She pauses only a moment before pressing on, lest she lose her nerve. “I was wondering if I could… talk to you about something?”