The bloody pond had become her refuge, and he was drinking out of it.

Oh, yes, the shadow-mare had watched from the shadows as the young stallion plunged haphazardly into the crimson waters and scrambled backward, as though he hadn't expected the knee-deep frigidity. What was he thinking, she had to wonder - after all, when a large animal stood on thin ice, only one thing was bound to occur. She waited then, lost in her own gloom, and watched the odd raven settle on the snow, give a raucous caw, and leap into the air once more. She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful, her irritation at the interruption forgotten. What was so special about this ignorant youth that he had drank from the blood water and received the favor of the ravens?

The winter had treated her well, so far from the northern home that would have turned her into a rather waif-like little troll with its harsh conditions. Though confusion still lay in her heart, the shade had recovered from her shock and depression. Her ebony pelt shone like black velvet on nights like these, when the moon shone down from her place high in the skies, interrupted only by the glow of ivory here and there - a line down her face, and a few spots around her hooves. Her forelock fell across one amber eye, mostly concealing the crown that she had once worn so proudly. It was broken now, but that did not have to mean that she was broken.

The stallion matched her, oddly enough. His pitch-black pelt was broken only by white lacing along his back, partially obscured by a long, thick mane. Three horns adorned his cranium, and she found herself gazing at their lengths greedily. It had been some time since she had come across another of her species. She didn't miss her own horn anymore, not really, but it was always a shock to remember that she no longer belonged.

A mare appeared, seemingly out of nowhere; the jackal had been so caught up in appraising the stallion that the equine had caught her unaware. Once, such a timid creature might have brought a wicked smile to the unicorn's face, an evil gleam to her eye - but now she merely watches, choking back to old, habitual hatred, and wondering what on earth two newcomers were doing in this section of the woods. Finally, she steps forward, her steps crunching softly in the snow; she emerged from the shadows like a ghostly apparition, soft words falling from once-poison lips: "Hello. Who are you?"

"Talk talk talk."
432 words.

OUR GREATEST WEAKNESS LIES IN GIVING UP.

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