A cold wind blew across the Steppe, lonely flakes drifting in its wake, destined to follow, but never to lead. The winter wonderland was a desolate place, filled with an eerie, forlorn emotion, as though it was buried deep within the grounds. One would think that a place so steeped in the color of purity might be a bit more light-hearted, but no: it was an oppressive, desolate place. Promises of good cheer and warmth from long ago were gone, cast to that dreadful wind that never stopped churning the drifts, creating the perpetual fog that so perplexed the land's inhabitants. One would think they were traveling toward an outcropping of rock only to find upon their arrival that it was nothing but snow piled against the trees. Not that trees were common in the tundra.

It was not the best of places to house a herd during the harshest Frostfall to grace the land in years. It was not the most friendly of homes for not one, but two newborn foals. It was not the smartest place to hide from their enemies, what with the barren landscape and sparse vegetation. But it had been their king's decision, and they had followed blindly, like the snowflakes in the wind; and now their wind was gone, vanished as though the gods had simply whisked him away. It was not the best of times for him to disappear, and some would say that he had failed as their commander. Some would cry their disappointment to that gods-forsaken wind, hoping that someone might hear their pleas. And someone did hear. Someone always hears.

The shadow-mare skirted around a dense thicket of trees, one of the few in the barren wasteland that she was forced to call home. That wind danced through her mane, invited her multi-colored trinkets into a gentle waltz against her nape. She shook her head halfheartedly, as though to remind the tendrils that she was their mistress, and that they ought to listen to her alone. But as soon as she had begun the motion, it was done, her thoughts elsewhere. Yes, she had heard the whispers that spoke of their lost king. She had listened as disgruntled unicorns voiced their opinions, though never loud enough to attract attention. They would not trumpet it. But it was gossip, and gossip travels like wildfire.

She was above such idle boredom. After all, she was amassing her own private army within the ranks of the Edge. In fact, she had brought several new members into the herd simply because they had agreed to rally behind her cause. But still, the absence of the FrostHeart preyed on her mind, though for very different reasons than those of her herdmates. She tried in vain to banish the thoughts from her mind, but they were there. And today, they had overcome even her barriers. Thus, she quietly wandered from the herd to better be alone with her thoughts. Thinking about her feelings was a new pastime for the jackal, and one that she viewed with contempt. And yet, she found herself unable to stop the thoughts constantly crowding her mind, fighting for her attention.

He had left; she felt certain of that. He was gone, and he might come back, but for now, he was gone. She hadn't the time for 'what ifs' and 'in the futures.' All she had time for was the here and now. She had to make a plan, she had to find a way to rally the exiles. Otherwise, they would forget their pain, forget their past, and the shared rage that drove them together would fade into oblivion, as would their chances of retaliation. But it was hard - even she was finding it difficult to focus on such things when something deep inside her felt hurt, betrayed, deserted. All of these things she regarded with disdain, and she hated herself with the weakness that she was allowing to grow. Oh, how she hated him for making her feel this way! How she hated him for leaving her as she left him! Was this some form of revenge? Some kind of torturous payback? Well, just wait until he comes back! Payback isn't the only thing that can be a bitch!

[W/C | 712]