He had yet to become accustomed to the sheer variety in the landscape. For one born and raised on the vast tundra where forests were sparse and vegetation in all its form remained sparse, woodlands presented a very specific type of challenge. For a blind creature the never ending series of obstacles obstructing the path was both a blessing and a curse; navigation had never been so easy yet so daunting. Moving from tree to tree, trying to retain a sense of direction and remember just how deep into the heart of the forest he was venturing, avoiding to stumble and trip over unseen roots and rocks, fallen logs and pitfalls overgrown with moss and vegetation - by the time Morir emerged into a clearing the dark coat was soaked through with sweat and the long ebony tassels tangled and filled with needles and twigs. Blindly he stumbled out from the evergreen labyrinth, tall and looming with legs digging deep holes in the thick snow, only to grind to a halt with a deep sigh of relief.

He wasn't allowed to relax for long though. A faint creaking sound rose to clipping ears as a warning issued much too late; a grunt of surprise left him like a storm gust as the surface crumbled beneath the front hooves and sent him plunging knee deep into frigid waters. Quick as a thought the brute threw himself backwards, shuddering as the liquid seeped through winter coat and burned the skin with icy breath.

Had he been able to see, maybe he would have felt unease crawling down the spine at the sight of the pond he had walked into. Like a pool of blood the waters reflected the crimson of the rocks that lined the bottom, vividly crimson against the stark black and white of the landscape. Not unlike a bloodshot eye staring with empty gaze towards the sky, challenging the full moon for dominion over the night sky.
But Morir couldn't see the eerie color of the liquid. He only felt the scent of salty minerals and heard the cluck as waves settled against jagged ice; and as thirst burned his throat he never thought twice about stepping closer to it to lower a skull-capped head and submerge sooty lips below the surface.

What did she think, the lady Moon that hovered high above in the clear night sky as she watched the young stallion slake his thirst from the blood-stained spring? Her pale face remained impassive as always as she shed her light upon the forest, turning the contrasting white of snow and black of midnight trees into a delicious monochrome display. It was not in her nature to impart her feelings upon the mortals, but perhaps the symbolism of the act would have drawn a smirk of amusement across the perfect disc - had she been so inclined.

As it was, the only thing that stirred in the night in response to the young stag was a bird. Big and black the raven descended onto the ground opposite the horse in a flutter of midnight wings; for a moment it sat there on the snow, watching with beady eyes as Morir jerked the head up in sudden premonition and froze in place, water dripping red as blood from the mouth and freezing into the silken feathers of the legs. A heartbeat passed, then another. Then, with a startling caw and a sudden leap the bird took off, leaving behind nothing but a feather that slowly singled down through the air to land upon the back of the steed...

...and a sense of dread in the heart of a boy who had yet to stop believe in ghost stories.

@[Psyche]