The Endless Blue was gray. But then, so was everything in this damned Frostfall. The sky was laden with heavy, gray blankets of cloud, waiting to pour their contents onto the landscape in the form of ice and snow; the sand of the beach was dull, lifeless, unable to reflect golden rays of sunlight; even the water, reflecting the stormy skies, was dark, whitecaps cresting menacingly as the tide came in. It seemed as though the entire world were in grayscale. Even the shadow-mare fit the bill, as her dark pelt and ivory markings were not in the least bit extraordinary. She had missed out on the crimson gene that ran in her family, a fact that had haunted her since birth. She was lucky, really, that she hadn’t been killed just out of the womb. It had never really been addressed, why she had been permitted to live, a plain filly such as she; but she never questioned it, instead proving her worth in terms of blood rather than looks. After all, it was the inner being that mattered – she could be scarred, battered, and as long as she could fulfill her duties, she would still have worth.

Even so, she was a bit vain. Despite her plain appearance, she was not dull: her pelt, though unmarked, was soft, shining in sunlight, when it was allowed to kiss her hide. Her mane, woven with Pegasi fathers, trophies from her multiple kills, was silky and smooth, waving gently in the breeze. And her vanity was what had brought her to the sea in the first place. The Battle of the Edge had left her with injuries, and as she refused to be touched by some equine healer, she would just have to take care of herself. The current was powerful, and the water was cold – but what was a little pain now compared to what she would feel should her lacerations become infected? She had no desire to die a feverish death! The salt stung when it met the deep cut in her side. It had scabbed over since the fighting, but was lacking flexibility; every time she stretched her bodice the wrong way, it broke open anew. White bone flashed beneath the thinly regrowing skin. The worst of her wounds, it was burned clean by the salt and the frigidity of the water. Other, smaller cuts such as the one on her right hindquarter and the chunk of flesh missing from her nape stung less, but then they had healed over more sturdily.

As her body was cleansed, she turned her mind to thoughts of the Plague. What would be the best way to recruit new members? She did not know the current members well, or at least not all of them. She wouldn’t trust them to decide who was trustworthy with their secret society. So they would scout, and she would have the final say. She or Mauja. The FrostHeart would know who to trust, he would was so well-versed in diplomacy. The ironic thought caused a snort to burst from her. So diplomatic, and yet here they were, out on their rumps just in time for Frostfall after he managed to start a war! So she and Mauja could recruit. The others could scout out new members. Above all, she would need to stress the need for secrecy. The word of the Plague had gotten out, she knew, and was beginning to circulate around Helovia. They would need to quell those rumors, to be sure. Without secrecy, the entire basis of their organization would be ruined. And then how would she get her way?

[W/C | 607]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.