It was one of those perfect winter days. The sun shone brightly down on a pristine landscape painted in shades of blue and white and the palest, most dazzling yellow imaginable. Everything seemed soft and gentle beneath a thick blanket of snow that covered everything as far as the eye could see, and above it all the sky stretched outwards endlessly, so blue it boggled the mind. Not a cloud could be seen, not a puff of wind disturbed the powdery grains; it was perfect, and it was empty.

At least, it seemed empty on a first glance. A closer inspection revealed that life was slowly beginning to return to the world as darkness retreated, pulling the madness and disease along with it. First to return were, as always, the birds. Traces of their tiny feet and remnants of seeds and buds littered the ground beneath every tree and shrub, and every now and then a trill resounding from a barren branch or evergreen canopy would announce their existence to the world. More elusive but all the louder were the squirrels. Every so often they could be spotted scurrying up and down the trunks of pine and spruce, fervent in their search for edible goods. Most of the stocks gathered during Orangemoon had become spoiled or tainted by the darkness, leaving a vast majority of rodents hungry and tenacious; the sound of their bickering voices filled the air, rising to a cacophony whenever a rare find attracted the attention of opportunistic crows or pretentious hares. True silence only ever fell over the woods when the silent steps of a fox or wild cat announced a sudden threat to life and limb - it was good times for predators now, the dead and dying critters were numerous and easy to catch, yet no risks were taken when every wild animal had learned just how precious and fragile their existences were.

Moving through all of this with the quiet dignity of a ruler was a black stallion. As he didn't carry the musky scent of predator his passing went fairly unnoticed, yet every now and then an animal stopped their scurrying to take a second look at the peculiar beast as it slowly meandered through the snow. Walking slowly with deliberately high strides, he was a sight to behold indeed. Black as midnight with a long whipping tail and long, thick horns piercing the skull of a stag that rested upon his face, Morir didn't look like most horses. Tall and heavy, muscled and with long legs that shuffled relentlessly through the powder, he would have been most impressive... if it hadn't been for the eyes. Blind eyes. Eyes with no eyeballs, useless and sightless and of no value in a world where only the strong and wary and able survive. That he has survived until now despite his predicament is a small miracle - for him to survive the coming year would be a bigger one indeed.

Yet he walks without hesitation as he brave the distances of the vast world, caring little that he is unable to behold the dazzling beauty of the landscape before him. When he stop it is only to paw at the frozen surface of a brook with a cloven hoof, testing the thickness of the ice to gauge the possibility of it breaking and unleashing the precious water below. He remain unaware of the beautiful structure that rise beside him only strides away, confusing the carved stone pillar for yet another tree - a mere obstacle in his path, something to avoid and move around on his road to elsewhere.

Focusing on the task before him, Morir tap the surface of the ice again. Deeming the effort of digging down through the snow and cracking the ice too much of an effort for what little reward he might find, the towering youth snort gruffly and bite at the cold powder instead, resorting to melt snow on the tongue to sate the thirst.

It is a big world, but even a blind could survive in it, with a bit of effort.

@[Farkas]