burning cities and napalm skies; anyone

[Starlin]

STARLIN grit and grace. A cold winter wind is not the best portent of her journey, but it is what Starlin heads south with. The once summer-sleek sides of the grullo filly are now thick with winter coat, a paltry shield against the icy chill of the mountain passes. The cliffs of Nerine have slid into the peaks of Hyaline some distance behind her, but the tobiano filly is too occupied with finding shelter to care about borders. She ends up stopping rather close to the edge of the kingdom after all, in a narrow pass. The wind whistles overhead, but fallen trees provide a windbreak, and Starlin nestles into the somewhat charred smelling shelter, the ash scent weak against a few years worth of regrowth. Lowering her head to the ground, she prepares to wait out the storm.