the truth is you could slit my throat; any

[Eld]

★ ☆ ★ Winter is on it's last legs, but as most dying, they do not relent until the very last breath. The winter wind is cold, harsh against my strawberry frame. The thick blanket of ivory sinks beneath me, soaking my auburn feathers, matting them with mud and spindles of twig. I walk with ease, vast body sinking with weight, hefty legs pulling me across the loam like a plough through the thick currents of snow. The flurries on the wind still break my vision, like intricate cobwebs they fall over my emerald eyes, blocking my view along with the thick, wet curtain of red hair. I'm soaking through, every fibre of my vessel is wet and cold and I can now feel the iciness pinprick my bones, tear at my muscles with vicious teeth. If I had have known this is what wandering was like, perhaps I would have waited until summer's touch. I am certain traversing the land would have been a lot easier. But things never worked out like that, did they? Throughout the cold, my eyes remain bright, even behind the veil of sodden wet hair and snow drifted body. I am quite content as I walk through the middle of the meadow. I have a freedom that is long overdue. Three years seemed rather a long time to be under a tight rein. I just wished my mother would have understood, instead sent me off with the darkest of glares an the nastiest of tongues. My ears rest against my crown, as I meander with a thoughtfulness in every step. Lost in my mind, a labyrinthine maze that could lose many hours within, I do not see the small outlet of a river in front of me until it's too late. It's thick, thick drifts of snow and I misjudge my step, heavy feet sinking quickly until I hear the characteristic crack of ice. the splintering earth gives way beneath me with loud splits and blossoming cracks. It is like the earth is swallowing me. White foam engulfing me. The icy waters hit me, cold, suffocating as they claw at my throat. My heavy frame bounces, trying to float, trying to crawl my way out, but I'm stuck, the floating ice shards knocking into my side and pushing me further down. I call out, a gargle of icy water and fibrous fear. I've never been frightened in my little life. Fear was something I often saw in my sire's herd members, but not one emotion I had come across. I decide then, that I never want to feel it again. The blossoming ache in my chest expanding, reaching out to my very core. A sting that coils into my very depth. I call out again, thrashing heavy limbs until I finally manage to break free of the icy prison, the waters chilling me with a blanket of frost. My breath hazes before me in ragged clouds as my breath comes sharp and harried. My forelegs arch and pull myself out, dripping icicles from my abdomen, my neck, even my knotted mane, I am a frozen strawberry in the brink of winter's grasp. I give in then, to the ache, to the coldness that numbs me to the bone marrow. And I lay there, silent, cold and alone. Hours seem to go by. I cannot count them, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, frozen in place, like every inch of my Shire body. I am stuck to the ground, laying there silently, sprinkled by the flurries of snow as they continue to fall. Like hushed secrets shared, they fall and melt against my skin, freezing almost immediately into tiny ice sculptures. By the time i manage to shift my head, I have little snowmen resting on my neck, my back. I whicker, hoarse, strained. No one's out there. I'm alone. I should have been stronger, my sire was right, I am a burden, a burden to myself. A burden to all. Even  burden to the ground. Oh, forgive me river for polluting you with my being. Forgive me snow for crushing you with my hefty weight. And oh, forgive me meadow for slowly dying in your cold, bitter embrace. ★ ☆ ★ the truth is you could slit my throat, and i'd apologise for bleeding on your shirt; wanderer

OOC: o_o Don't know where that came from. Poor Eld.