It was raining, and she was terrified.

Caught in the middle of play, Rhiannon had been unaware that a fall-based storm had been brewing above her very own crowned head. Her steps had been light and playful as she danced through the snow, completely unaware that she should be returning home to her father before it grew too late... Except that, of course, the filly hadn't listened to her own thoughts.

Graced with lithe, thin limbs, Rhiannon had played and danced by herself well into the evening, completely unconscious of the setting sun and the rising on the moon. The brindled filly had, however, taken immediate notice when the heavens opened up and rain fell down from above, splattering her with chilly wetness and causing the short tufts of her frosted mane to stick to her neck. It was uncomfortable and cold, and the moon provided little light due to the fact that the thick clouds blocked out its rays. On a normal night, Rhiannon would be capable of finding her way home with little effort... But right now, she found herself struggling to see through the all-encompassing darkness.

Each step was slow and trembling, and idly she wondered if Crowley was out searching for her. Had she of listened, Rhiannon knew that she would be warm and snuggled against the Weaver's warm legs, either listening to him explain the laws of life or telling one of his rare child-worthy stories. Unfortunately for the brindled filly, however, she didn't listen to the Weaver's words, and was now regretting that decision.

Oh, if only she had listened...!

Dual-colored eyes were narrowed as she peered through the darkness, taking one step after the other, her tiny hooves sinking into the snows and causing her lanky form to become terribly unbalanced. Quite a disgrace she made, Rhiannon thought bitterly with a shake of her head, snapping her tiny muzzle to the left as she righted herself from yet another stumble. Gods, if only she could find her way home...

Up ahead, however, something seemed to materialize from the very darkness from which she struggled to walk through. A large, painted stallion, and while Rhiannon didn't recognize him, she took immediate notice of the horn that graced his brow. The sight was relieving, for she remembered fondly Crowley's words of the 'lesser' creatures of Helovia; the mere equine and the winged Pegasus.

'Good,' Rhiannon thought with relief, 'Hopefully this fellow can help me find my way home...'

Her stumbling pace slowed, and Rhiannon allowed her head to droop slightly, gold and silver orbs peering at the stallion who stood a few paces away from her. She took note of the missing hairs, and the way that he looked slightly disarrayed, but tried not to be put-off by his mere appearance. Perhaps he could help her...

"'S'cuse me?" Rhiannon called, dipping her head upwards slightly, the nubs of her growing horns pointed slightly askew, "You there, mister. Could you help me, please?"