Sound is muted. Birds have silenced their lamenting cries, those that remain so steadfastly through the frost. The wind however is steady and persistent. It draws small whirls of snow up from its resting place, creating little hurricane devils that last only as long as the wind plays with it. In the muted silence of everything else, the wind is a howling beast. It is not necessarily that loud in reality but it is quite troublesome for the young stud to bear. Eyes of molten mercury squint in a miniscule fashion against the whipping it has caused. Once kind and playful eyes have turned, shifting unseen into troubled and irritated. It is tamer here than the steppe where he lives, but it is no less irritating. Long lean pillars push forward through the cannon deep snow, ignoring the cold as it has long been ignored since the first blanket of white descended. His legs have not yet reached a state of comfortably numb, as he can feel all the way down to the freezing earth against the soles of his hooves. 

Crimson and cinnamon canvas are bared to the colorless world like the breast of a bluejay. Violent and so intrusively there. Hiding is impossible in this season, so unlike the one before it. Unlike the wraiths that can disappear into these likened backgrounds, Tolio is a sore thumb. He is a splash of blood in a land that has been, in ironic words, bled dry of all color. 

 But Tolio has nothing to hide from. 

In fact he is seeking someone. A shadow of a doll with bloodied locks along her crest and a horn as wicked as the one resting upon his forehead. Visage belies nothing as it is raised high to the heavens, a sound working itself up and out from the very depths of him to split the air in the only other sound that exists beside the wind. Trumpeting out for this maiden who enticed him home with her independence and spirit. 

Friendship leaves them with no animosity. It is not battle that Tolio is seeking. It is a learning experience, a spar between two individuals who will not harm one another severely but will persistently push each other to new heights. 

There is no sun these days. A blanket so much like the one covering the earth is reflected in ashy grey tones in the sky. It is bright in a way that only a winter world can bring. But vision is not helped even with the improved all over lighting. Wind is a powerful enemy that refuses to be forgotten. Pulling and snapping at his mane like a conniving madman. Whether it aided him or not would soon be discovered. All that remained was to await the arrival of his partner. 

[[I don't know what you want, considering word count and how many posts. Although I won't completely fill out the setting my post hopefully has enough clues if you desire to do that. Excuse the Robert Frost line for a title. This is done on an iPod so hopefully it's acceptable and it's my first spar so bear with me!]]