One thing frostfall had taught him was: Never eat yellow snow. Ha! No, seriously though- winter was something that Lys enjoyed above all things. Cold never seemed to bother him, it was questionable as to how that was the case, but he tended to bite the bullet and just ignore the nipping of cold at the edge of his lips, and the tips of his ears. The snow had fallen; there was no doubting that for a second. The world had turned into one huge marshmallow coated wonderland, where sounds were muffled beyond recognition beneath a thick dusting of ice-cold frosting and corners had been rounded and edges softened. Here and there, bare twigs pierced the white veil, and grass blades stabbed holes through areas that lay thin. Regardless of the covering, the shadows moved ominously, perhaps more ominously on this one occasion than normal.

There was one shadow in particular that bled as ink over crisp white paper, kicking up dusty crystals in his wake as he strode out with the confidence of a creature entirely in the knowledge of his surroundings, and steadfast in his footing despite losing the massive plates of his hooves deep with each step he threw out before him. All the excitement and zeal of a colt, his heels kicked up and his tail held out as a proud banner behind him. The coat, a mish-mash of speckles and daubs of white and a sheen of health that rippled over the serpentine movements of muscles writhing beneath velvet. To say that the creature was formidable from a distance would be perhaps, selling him short. Lysander had spent so much time in one place that getting out and enjoying stretching his limbs was attractive in ways that he had never deemed possible. He tore through the flake laden breeze in a flurry of crimped silk threads that spiralled and bounced away from the muscle of his swan arched neck. The arch was such that his chin practically pressed against his brisket, with his ears pricked firmly forwards, and the tip of his twisted horn pointed towards the ground before him.

With each fluid, graceful forward punching of limbs, the powerful bellows of his lungs heaved frigid air through dilated nares, air which he expelled in violent snorted streams. Those that were allowed to leave of their own accord rose in spiraling tendrils of silvered breath that dissipated far above his head.

The sound of others in the vicinity rang like a dog whistle against his eardrum. It brought his carefree gallop across the scrubland to a brisk halt. He dug the massive concave bulk of cloven hooves deep into the frozen earth beneath the snow and pretty much skidded to a stop. Snow was sprayed in various directions, along with clods of earth with its attached grass, and his mane and tail finally caught onto the fact that they were to stop. The momentum gained meant that they overshot their normal resting place resulting in his vision being obscured just at the wrong moment. He flicked his head curtly, and snorted as he made several attempts at focusing on the horizon through the thick, unkempt strands of his forelock and now, dishevelled mane.

He tossed his head again, this time releasing a soft throaty nickering sound of curiousness that vibrated the edges of his nostrils and pulled his muzzle into a momentary sneer. It was a sneer which erased itself almost as soon as it had materialised, he practically shook it off along with making yet another attempt at rearranging his mane and forelock by bobbing his head.

The keen, mismatched hues of his eyes, all encompassing to their glassy depths, had picked out a scene just meters from where he’d ground to a halt. A snowglobe's scene beyond where his hooves had literally carved tracks deep in the snow and frozen soil like hot knives through butter.

The mottle stallion lifted his right foreleg, raised his muzzle to the breeze and sampled it with a deep inhalation and slow exhalation. Whatever was present through the haze of flakes and beyond had come to a stand-still, and the scents that tainted a fitful breeze were some that he committed to memory, for safety's sake. Lys stepped forwards gingerly before hopping and plummeting gracefully into a steady trot to intersect a path that wildlife had repeatedly carved through the undergrowth.

He passed a thicket at a long, even paced trot with the length of his tail flagging behind him. It was as the long, loosely waved fibres of his tail snagged against a bramble tendril, and said vine pulled forwards and lashed back at him, that Lys jumped out of his skin. Indeed he, quite literally, leaped to the side as nimble as a ballerina and threw his hind legs out with all the strength he could muster, only to canter forwards a couple of strides and throw his weight into the air, his forelimbs boxing out, shaking the feathers that adorned his fetlocks in the breeze as he bellowed in both shock and terror at whatever had slapped him over the back of his legs-

“OH, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL F---???” He whinnied, crashing through the shrub on the furthest side of the thicket and getting himself into a further tangle.

He tossed his head, and lashed out with all four massive pillars before managing to clamber through the thorns and thickly entwined branches to land on the grass just a meter away from it, and he paced irritably back and forth, snorting like an angry boar with his ears firmly plastered against the back of his skull... like it was all the fault of the shrubbery. Which in all fairness, it probably was.