The pale stallion had never been so far North. He did not know what drove him, but he pulled his muscled frame from the ocean, his skin coated with the salt brine of the sea. Winter was a deadly time to travel through a tumultuous sea, but he'd felt the pull; the incessant need to leave the main island of where he'd kept his "home," if it could be labeled as such. Deep brown eyes scanned the beach as his body shuddered at the bite of the cold. Where had he landed?

He moves slowly from the beach, limbs achingly stiff. His breath clouds in anticipation as he shuffles through the barren, scraggly trees. His head dips carefully as he sniffs the ice covered ground. This place was not void of life after all. His eyes alight with surprise. Who would live in such a barren landscape, he wondered. No matter, he was sure he'd know soon. Surely they'd sent him before long.

He surveys his surroundings, taking in the varying shades of grey. Yes, Winter was a cold and vacant time indeed.