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No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure.

In the first light of dawn, the silence was deafening. Shadows only reluctantly released their hold on icy branches, shying away from the faint light that somehow managed to penetrate a blanket of clouds. Like a lid it veiled the sky, refusing the approach of the sun and trapping a biting cold against the ground.
Not many things were awake this early. The song birds that normally would have roused and began their morning concert during any other season had left long ago, escaped toward the south in search of warmth and light. Maybe they found it, maybe not. In their wake they left an eerie stillness, to be filled by the horrid caws of starving corvids that fluttered from tree to tree. Beady black eyes would watch anything that passed, questioningly, hungrily. Hoping for a violent fall, a sudden cry, a painful end. They would come then, arrive in two by two's like parishioners for a funeral to clear up the mess with sharp beaks and tearing claws. The shadows seemed darker then, accompanied by the sound of ripping flesh and dripping liquid, as crimson stained the snow and spread the scent of metal and salt through the air.

But if no one fell, if no cry rang out in alarm and no pain was felt as the end approached, the forest would remain silent, as it was now. The crows would keep starving for a while yet, ever watching the lonely passerby that seemed so unaffected by their emotionless stare.

Overall there was very little that affected the figure that moved through the forest. The chill of winter could not touch him, for the gray coat that covered the sturdy body was thick and full, more than enough to stave off the lethal bite that claimed so many lives. As if to prove his dominion over the weather the young stallion raised the knees high above the snow and set them down again forcefully, a proud and elegant stride that allowed nothing to stand in his way. The tracks left in his wake were deep and hollow, pockmarks on the pristine face of the forest floor after the latest snowfall.

Not like that faced him either. With the way the small ears pricked forth and the neck arched, it looked like he was quite enjoying himself where he went, even though the high stride must take its toll even on those well developed muscles. Maybe it was because of how he blended into the scenery with the pale gray body and shadowy black tassels, that caused a lopsided grin to perch on mercury lips. Maybe it was simply youth speaking - everyone knows that youngsters live in a world of their own, following their own unwritten rules. Might as well not even bother to guess why the handsome young stallion with the crystal horn walked forward with such fervor, as if the treasure at rainbow's end lay revealed somewhere up ahead. Maybe it did. Not all treasures are silver and gold.

Nor is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain.

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