Tempatures drop and the night brings in the daily haul of twinkling skylights to ignite dreams. Restless, she turns in the grasses by the water, her body longing for a soak in the oasis. Air crisp with nipping cold that runs across her skin without much effect, she refuses. It's never a hateful refuse, coming out with regret. Winter born and snow raised, she wants snow, cold, the sounds of voices being carried across the Steppe in the lonely nights when the Northern Lights erupt with intensity beyond above heads, to be surrounded in an embrance of her season and world. There are better voices for her to go to, and what seems like a good idea from your point of view(we both know where I'm talking about), there is every reason for her to ignore and deny the existance of a home encased in mountains.
Here, the land is almost endless to north; it calls her out, and she goes without complaint. Once out of sight of the lake, her legs are ablaze with energy, stretched forward and tearing the ground beneath her to pieces. Freedom finds her and she tries to sing to herself, whispering lullabies just for her ears to hear. She's so intent on the fact that no one is ever going to find her growing body sprinting across the land like a bat out of hell, does she forget that there are many others that live with her. Though their names are blurred, a few can settle into her fertile earth that is her mind, and grow into proud trees. Tonight, they're just words.
She has never truly been along the northern border, and when she finds a wall before her halts dead and stares. Her face is pulled into knots, each pale eye staring at it while her thoughts try to figure out it exactly is. The knots are pulled apart before they can do any severe damage known as wrinkles to her face, the sound of wings meeting her ears. Within this place, there is a distinct lack of horns like herself and a great many pairs of wings. Some days in her boredom, when there was never much to do and she didn't want to go out to the Wilds to be a rogue, reckless teenager, would she wander about and admire scattered feathers left on the ground. She never touched them just because you never exactly know where they'd been.
The creator of the noise passes her by while she remains still. There doesn't seem to be much note taken to each other's presence until the filly see's moonlight catch a pale body, bringing it out for her to view. Her heart lurches along the thought of a ghost. Yes, believing in ghosts may be seen as childish, but it is only the girl's up bringing. If you never spent a long amount of time in the northern lands in Frostfall, you do not know what makes the place so different to every other place in the lands. There are things in the endless abyss of snow that aren't even real. When your eyes are clouded and heavy, what you think is a trick is actually reality. Once before, she'd heard conversation about monsters in the snow, but her most basic memory of horror in that place was the bones of a dead sea creature washed upon beaches of the northern sea. It frightened her enough to make her turn tail and return to the safety of her birth home at the Arch.
At that reminder of that, she remembers that was the last time she ever let herself go truly far north, and makes a reminder to take someone from here up there with her when the blizzards soothe their anger and to let them view the lights.
Her legs refuse to let her remain at rest, growing tail swishing back and forth at flies that aren't there. She bends and twists them with her body, turning to create a slow trot along the border. Relieving herself of excess energy would help her get to sleep whenever she decided to make it back to the water's edge. They carry her in the direction of the pale soul she watched pass by, pushing her to go and mess with someone in the night. In the end, there was a risk that ran saying she could be yelled at for such night wandering. Dare they forget she went through most of her childhood with no sunlight for months, speaking along the lines that night meant nothing to her anymore. It was night that made her fearless of what monsters roamed where she couldn't see them.
When she crosses paths with her thought ghost, it is just a mare. They stand shorter than the girl, but not by much. Height seems to be made up for in the presence of two large, white wings perched upon strong shoulder blades. Sikeax has been jealous in the past of those that could fly, but in the dark, the natural blue glow that came from her horn was a saint. Everyone knows the feeling of embarrassment that grows hot in the pit of your stomach when you stumble about, and while she was spared that feeling, having it made her uncomfortable. She knows that they don't accept her well because of her horn, some reminded of the invasions that occurred recently by the horned. She had been right there to watch them leave their mountain home when it began.
A sigh breaks any silence that haunts the cool air encasing their bodies like coffins. It rolls from her lips, lacking grace that could make mothers frown and pout. "Hello, ma'am. Are you busy, or can't sleep?" Her voice is too old for her. It plays an act like her mother had done so well at. The thought of Adrixaura makes the knots return, a frown taking her expressions before it is passed off for a more gentle style to show innocence. Her head tilts to the left, longer mane moving with it. There is distance between them, and though she is finding it difficult to break that space and approach her companion, it creates a feeling of safety. The feeling doesn't suit their situation, but no one even likes to take chances anymore.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me coming in.

If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?