Snow fell in quiet sheets, blanketing the whole of the Crossing in magic-looking flakes. It was one of the few things she enjoyed about living in a place where winter was a reality, rather than a story used to give context to the arrival of overwintering birds. There was something otherworldly about walking through the quiet night while the little crystals fell that made it seem like everything was okay with the world, even if the morning sun would dispel any such illusions.
Róisín had slipped down from the Peak's mountaintops at the first sign of snowfall and sought the lowlands of the Crossing. The mountain rocks grew more treacherous with the addition of snow and ice, but she did not fear falling. The little dun often worked out her troubles and anxiety by challenging her footing across the shale and scree until she was far more certain of her footwork than she was of her leadership potential.
By the time the little dun had made her way to the Falls, she carried a cape of dense, wet snow that insulated her from growing any colder, despite the breath pluming from her muzzle. The snow had begun to thicken again though, reducing what little visibility there had been to next to nothing. She felt more than saw the figure ahead: an amorphous shape in the falling snow that only vaguely resembled an equine. Still, mindful of how often she'd gotten herself into trouble barreling into someone, the dun drew to a stop and called out into the quiet night instead. "Hello?" Feeling foolish, she took another step closer and elaborated on why she was calling out into the dark. "I can't tell if you're a bush or a horse, but I'm crossing my hooves for the latter. I'd hate for someone to see me talking to a bush."