That late season rainstorm brought in a downpour of frigid antarctic air from the northeast. Tolerable pellets of moisture quickly merge to pea size balls of sleet. Wet conditions combine with a dropping temperature and both make for a cold, unforgiving bed to sleep upon. The forest is slicker than the belly of a fish -- even the denser groves of the clotted evergreens are coated with transparent ice. It wasn't long before the fragile first flakes of snow begin to fall, their appearance is begrudgingly expected. With the arrival of winter I've hit my roughing it limit.

The surrounding area (at least two miles out) is scuffed with marks of intense forging, all for the sake of a half starved filly. By now the acorns and tuber roots had run out -- a day ago Miss. Lady Luck smiles upon our miserable situation. I find a cluster of wild frost onion, young and sweet -- without bitterness these lips form a fib about eating my share of the find, successfully giving it over to Zahra. Luck would sustain life for another afternoon. The following morning saw those fragile greens buried beneath hard frost and covered with a thin layer of snow. This forest would become a grave for us both if we didn't move soon.

Impatient I turn these weary eyes to the first light of another dreary, cold, and wet dawn. A scowl furrows my brow and the chilling breeze sends vibrations straight to the bone. These limbs turn back to our bed, the butt of my moist snout shuffles to bump against a cold black shoulder. Without fondness these emeralds glare at our soon to be abandoned home...shelter. This was far from being even what I would consider homely. A fine layer of frost had collected overnight -- it made the slushy ground firm to touch. Perhaps her soft feet would have an easier time treading on terrain that didn't squish and squash.

"Come on," my tone is soft, but the plush notes are tainted with exhausted frustration -- "Let's find someplace warmer..." brows pitch toward the canopy, the tangling was good for blocking wind -- but it also was a blockade against our sky view and any warmth that might filter down. "Sunnier," a forced smile chases across these creamy lips, pointlessly convincing, it fades just as quickly. I turn away, expecting her to follow without argument and only halfway wondering if I'd care to handle a rebuke.

During our exhausting trek of slipping and sliding along many different paths -- my mind drifts to warmer places in an attempt to feel a tiny bit less like shit. One such place stands out from the rest, a blue fire spiderweb. With the memory comes remembrance of a massive individual. I level my attention wordlessly on the swirling torrent around me; that heavy wind has gone from frightening, confusing, highly agitating, annoying, frustrating, until finally with a long sigh...I'd come to accept it. Zahra and Bird had done a good job being a distraction. To think I've almost grown accustomed to living in a bubble. Almost. Zahra had called this place, Deep Forest. Deep Forest. Deep Wood. Same stretch of land...right?

That mountain god did mention (before vanishing) that 'Deep Wood' was in the east. Helpful... By way of rising sun, (which is now at our back,) I'd come to the obvious conclusion long ago that we had gone east. Crown lowers to the stiff trail with another frustrated sigh, mud pockets are frozen solid -- dead, wet leaves stick up from our path. The hard tips are half fringed with white. A mile later the way branches off from its zigging pattern, it sways gently to the left. Eroted soil creates a gully and the faint musical tinkling of icy water catches the interest of two ears that sit nicely upon my skull. Even from twenty feet away I can see the surface is liquid crystal, fragments of debris had fallen on the pale surface. The flab of skin in my mouth is dry. Dehydration was less noticeable in these conditions, but no less an issue. Our headway takes a detour -- my forefeet will serve as a perfect battering ram to break the swell.