You are walking through the World's Edge one peaceful Orangemoon morning, with the first lights of yellow breaking through the trees and dappling the forest ground with delicate, intricate patterns. There is one such grouping of the dapples, though, that seem to shimmer and shift, and, intrigued, you step closer to investigate, your blue eyes looking at them carefully, a paw stretching out hesitantly to touch one of the yellow dots. Upon connection, up the golden dots of sunlight jump from the ground and begin to swirl, a portal opened in the earth. On the other side is the sight of winter - the Frostbreath Steppe. Careful, though, because this is not simply the present day Steppe.

Oh, no, Mauja. You are stepping through time, but how?

Backward through time you travel, walking along the pathway cautiously until crisp snow, the true hallmark of Frostfall, crunches underneath your hooves. You see a lone tree among the expanse of white, and from it you here a coo. Approaching the three, you see a snowy owl, gazing at you with wise, black eyes. Something is odd with this owl, though, as there seems to be static electricity surrounding it, occasionally sparking out to be entirely visible. What magic does this creature hold?

Somewhere in the distance, unnoticed by all, I, a stallion of black with white markings watches the scene unfold.

I watch as the owl tilts its head, much in the same manner as myself.

The dark eyes glimmer with energy, but they are stable, looking at you with a quiet omnipotence that you may not expect from such a small creature. "Greetings, Mauja the Frostheart," the beak clicks, struggling with the tongue of the equid with its odd anatomy. He is not meant to speak your language, but the strings that pull on his mind make him do it anyway. "Ruler of the Edge in future times."

There it is, your first real hint that you are not in the Helovia that you know and love. While the season of Frostfall entices you, this is a foreign land. How far have you gone back? Your mind might race thinking about that, but I know. Yet, you are left to stand in mystery, and the owl will certainly not tell you. I will not tell you.

The owl begins to ruffle its feathers, shuffling around to grasp at something. You watch his movements carefully, for it is the reason you have come here. From the tree the owl produces an egg. It is small, white, very dull and ordinary. Yet there is a soft glimmer of blue on its shell that you can only see in random flickers of the winter sun. "This is your fated companion," the Owl says matter-of-factly. "But it was born before your time."

The owl suddenly levitates the egg in a static limb, crackling and buzzing as it makes the egg float down to you, making a loop around your neck and holding the egg in place by your heart. A chain of strange, cool electricity for the convenience of carrying your egg. "For this reason, you had to come back here."

You are intrigued, and I am pleased.

The cool and composed Mauja seems utterly flustered in this foreign situation, you seem so flustered. Most mortals would be, walking back through time only to be given a small egg to care for. Still, the emotion is out of place on you, and that is a beautiful thing to witness for me. "You are welcome," the owl clicks, the beak making sharp sounds and cut off syllables.

The questions begin to roll. The owl watches passively, but every word is carefully recorded. Static crackles slowly as silence stretches between them. "You have a choice," the owl says abruptly, bringing the relief that the unicorn sought. "You can remain in the past and seek out the answers to all of your questions about it, or you may return home with the egg you have been given." You would return home, for the mystery of this past realm is not great enough to override your responsibilities in the future.

I know this, you know this.

"When the egg hatches, you will know each other instantly, but be sure to hunt, or the bird will surely die."

The indecision weighs heavily on you for only a moment.

I think that I am fascinated by the way you look back toward all those who rely on you, but I think the pivotal deciding factor is the children you love, and the bitch who ran away that your heart still earns for silently. The owl sees it well, his dark eyes watching you calmly. The answer is the same, though. You will return, even while your mind thinks back to this quiet winter morning so long before your time.

Your questions, your words, come next, and the owl blinks once before a serious look takes shape in his feathered face. "The portal is a hole that tears through the natural order. The longer it is open the more unstable time becomes." The clicking of his beak stops, and a strong look is given.

"Do not worry, Ice King," he says, "I am certain your questions will be answered eventually."