There was something about the colourless landscape that captivated the young mare’s imagination. Her eyes had been filled with admiration as the sun set draining colour from the world and turning it to an ashen view. The mixture of night and snow was dazzling, the banshee felt easily at home wherever she walked. Along with the mass of white came a new kind of natural quiet as it cushioned her feet, the shadows were many and the odd ‘hoot’ of an owl sent an enjoyable shiver down her spine. Yes, nightfall in winter was perhaps one of her most favourite things. It offered her a respite from the stresses that had come with her new twist of fortune and she appreciated every second that her mind felt at ease. When Ghost finally dragged herself from the depths of her perfect euphoria was when she noticed that she had travelled into the Threshold, where the trees were laden with snow and the undergrowth now crunched with ice beneath her feet. Her eyes briefly strayed downwards and there, stained into the pallid ground, was a trail of intriguing liquid darkness.

Curiousity piqued, the Cadaverous followed the inky path through the wintry woodland. What had made this kind of trail? It was almost like following the steps of someone who was badly injured, but instead of bleeding red, they leaked blobs of pitch instead. How bizarre?! Maybe she was completely wrong and this was a substance of a different kind, though she daren’t test it on her tongue. It might make her feathers fall off or cause her throat to close; it would surely pay to be wise when in the face of the unknown. Though the thought did excite her a little.

It wasn’t too long before Ghost caught the sound of a voice and sure enough her dark eyes zoned in on a new scene. To one side was a familiar looking appaloosa whom the Czarina remembered meeting under similar circumstances before, Rei was it? The other was the source of the mystery that had initially led her here. A stallion who was slick black, like someone had covered him in oil and dripping from his tail was some sort of strange black liquid that the banshee quickly learnt as ink (courtesy of Rei). She had never been creative of mind enough to warrant a foray into such areas of life, why would a horse need to know how to write anyway? It sounded tedious, but maybe she was missing the point.

She quickly ruffled her wings and stored them into her sides, horned face turning from one to the other before finally she spoke. ”Does it not get annoying? Leaving pools of this ink, as you call it, wherever you go?” as ever the resourceful minded, after all, if it didn’t help then surely it was more of a curse than a gift?

”You have strange taste in fodder” it’s not everyday you get to meet a horse covered in ink chewing on bark in the middle of winter. The folk who came to these forests got weirder and weirder each time she came. Not that she could be one to judge.