The sunlight was mercilessly bright after the red dusk beneath the trees. She closed her eyes against it as she darted out into the open, stumbling and so weak from exhaustion that she couldn't bring herself to stay on all four. With a dry sob Erthë collapsed into the snow and just lay there, every spindly limb splayed out like a fallen champion... which she was, come to think of it. Barely a week old, and she had fought a battle that grown stallions would hesitate to dabble in.

But she didn't want to think of that. She didn't want to think of anything, didn't want to do anything anymore. She was hungry and tired, she missed her parents, she wasn't entirely sure how she would get back to them after so recklessly running off on her own, and she had lost track of uncle Badger in the midst of all the chaos after the battle - but she wasn't thinking of that.

A groan worked its way up through her throat as she pressed herself deeper into the cool, clean whiteness. The sun was warmer than a few days ago, enough to scratch the surface of her skin with red-hot claws that warmed and burned at the same time. It thawed the upper layers of the deep drifts into a grainy putty, but if she pushed herself down deep it became cleaner, colder, far more comfortable for one who had more in common with winter and ice than this thing called spring.

The chill felt good against her bruises too. All of her ached, from the left clove that had gone oddly numb after stepping into that foul, sizzling, dribbly... (no, not that, think of something else) to her shoulders, sore after bumping into legs and knees and flying hooves as the warriors kept surging back and forth in time with the roaring of the bear (no no NO! Something else, quick, anything...) Her wings ached too; the stubby ugly chicken wings where down was falling off and other, longer and sharper feathers had begun to grow out in earnest. They were itchy and swollen and a bit sore, just like the lumps on her head where tiny horns had begun to work their way through the skin. She was a bit proud of having a piece of both mother and father but right now Erthë wished she had been more like uncle Badger who had neither, or maybe like Vlasi who changed between this and that in a single CRACK that surely didn't hurt at all!

Slowly the filly began to calm down as she kept her mind occupied. Tiny muscles relaxed one by one, the legs stilled in the snow... but only for as long as she managed to not think about the battle. As soon as her mind strayed a spasm shot through the fragile body, forcing out a whimper or terrified squeal... only to still once more.

She didn't even notice the tears that rolled down the cheeks, drawing pale lines of cleanliness bloody filth that sullied her innocently white coat.