It is a good day to be angry, a good day for a fight. The advent of winter puts copper child and her ashy brother into a moody fit of ill-will, drives them to the edge of unhappiness without quite pushing them over the rim. The days grow short as the nights grow cold, tendrils of frost nipping at their ears, settling on the ends of their spines and refusing to give way to an amount of warmth. The boy has taken to near-hibernation, sleeping as often as he might be allowed, a shadow in the sand and a candle in the dark.

The girl wishes she could do the same, could sleep away the cold and dark and wake once more when the sun gains his reign. The breath which rises before her ears is aggravating, irritating; it is a reminder of another season passed, another span of time where she learned nothing, did nothing, accomplished nothing and remained lost.

Loneliness gnaws with teeth sharper than cold. Everyone here is a stranger to her, the family who promised their return gone once more. Some have been kind, but none have been close. She thinks of Sohalia, of Africa, of Andromeda and Cera and the handsome Hector and the buoyant Rei. She thinks of them, but she feels so little- she would fight for them, save them, but can't make herself love, can't fill more than memories with the ghosts of their scents. Emotion is frozen in Winter's barren clutch, and only hot anger can make its escape.

She snorts out her ire to the afternoon air, kicking at sand, watching it fall in a lackluster cloud. It sticks to her limbs, clings to her hair; she's covered with the stuff, but it's too cold for a bath. The Oasis is near, though, and she's beginning to thirst; perhaps some light company would distract from her rage. Gold-dipped legs stride in a purposeful path, wandering anxiously, nose blinded by cold- an ideal combination for making mistakes. She does not see Ampere until it is too late, the burn of her power and the stench of her scent polluting the air and making the girl balk.

At first she thinks the blue mare must be a mirage. The girl has heard nothing of Ampere's return, been told not that the pegasus would stride through these sands. Onyx eyes harden, memories running wild- I'll kill you! she'd shouted, and she'd meant it then, too.

Did she still mean it? Anger rises into her throat like bile, hot and heavy and ready to spew. Words build quickly behind her teeth, a slew of verbal bullets prepared to be shot. But the girl does not fire, though she speaks with sharp flame. "What are you doing here?" she questions, direct. What right do you have to be in my home? Who will you kill with your denial of truth? What must I do to make you leave, now?

Iron flashes bright in the child's burning eyes, and a winter wind tosses her dreadlocked silver mane. She is glad that Natraj is asleep, glad he is not here to throw himself at the mare, to unleash the anger he shares with the girl. She supposes she will have to explode for the both of them.

She does not see this as a problem.

It's a good day for a fight.