05-21-2015, 02:57 PM
Winter is dawning. The first snow-falls of Beqanna hit the Tundra in late autumn, fresh and beautiful. It is like a postcard at first sight, something awe-inspiringly beautiful. It is the cool solace of the Tundra that draws her in, the promise of the seasons. The little pony-mare steps across the arid grassland, hooves cracking off rocks, pelt ruffled in the icy breeze. It is a blessed relief from the desert heat, a pleasant change from her sand dunes. She feels like a sailor must feel after months adrift, having stepped onto the jetty, glad of a break from the rocking of the sea.
She lowers her muzzle to the rocks, creating a film of condensation upon their glassy surface with her warm breath. Around them, she nibbles at the rough grass, gingerly using her teeth to needle out the best bits. It is tough, course food, food for hardy horses, breeds like hers. The little buckskin part-bred looks the part here, against the backdrop of the Tundra. She feels almost at home, raising her head to breathe in the fresh, crisp air, enjoying the sharp pinch as it hits her lungs.
Happily, the little sun-mare sights. She looks up towards the fluffy white clouds, watching as the snowflakes dance their way slowly back to the earth beneath her feet. How lucky they are at the Tundra, to see the seasons in their full glory. She misses this.
She wonders when they will notice her, the little sun-queen sneaking into their borders. Will they know she is a Queen? Hopefully not, for Pevensie enjoys nothing more than to blend in, to be a normal horse. She waits, enjoying the solitude and the change of scenery until someone will come to interrupt her peaceful thoughts, drag her back from her dreams and into the present. For now though, she is contented. She allows her mind to wander, undisturbed, and soaks in the beauty all about her.
She lowers her muzzle to the rocks, creating a film of condensation upon their glassy surface with her warm breath. Around them, she nibbles at the rough grass, gingerly using her teeth to needle out the best bits. It is tough, course food, food for hardy horses, breeds like hers. The little buckskin part-bred looks the part here, against the backdrop of the Tundra. She feels almost at home, raising her head to breathe in the fresh, crisp air, enjoying the sharp pinch as it hits her lungs.
Happily, the little sun-mare sights. She looks up towards the fluffy white clouds, watching as the snowflakes dance their way slowly back to the earth beneath her feet. How lucky they are at the Tundra, to see the seasons in their full glory. She misses this.
She wonders when they will notice her, the little sun-queen sneaking into their borders. Will they know she is a Queen? Hopefully not, for Pevensie enjoys nothing more than to blend in, to be a normal horse. She waits, enjoying the solitude and the change of scenery until someone will come to interrupt her peaceful thoughts, drag her back from her dreams and into the present. For now though, she is contented. She allows her mind to wander, undisturbed, and soaks in the beauty all about her.