Lost... I got lost wandering, looking for forest ‘shrooms and fern root again. Don’t you think the trees just blend together? They all look the same after awhile. The snow is laid so thick this Frostfall – where’s the path?!... She could see his sleek black face as it craned this way and that to peer through timber and vine after her; golden markings and depthless eyes appeared to be duller as damp flakes fell thinly at first from a bleak atmosphere; but they were soon lost as the snow fell thicker and heavier. Again his voice greeted her trembling grey ears, but it was not his she thought, it seemed frail and without the warmth she might have ordinarily expected.

“It’s me Midas... yes.” She answered quickly his second plea – the weak tendency of his voice rattled her, quelled the resentment still curdling her blood, and compelled her forward from the bristly camouflage. She angled herself carefully but discreetly as she closed the distance between them, allowing not the ruined state of her wing to be blatantly obvious. You know me, cave dwelling and Unicorn wrangling are messy hobbies... she shrugged inadvertently as another excuse formed in her in mind but it dissolved almost as quickly. Pale, sandy eyes danced hesitantly around the Gallant’s face.

Was he tired? Sick? The blasted snow made it so difficult to see.

‘Why?’ he asked her and the sickly mare peered cautiously at him through one narrow eye, thin, long face turned to the side. “Why what?” she mused quietly, curiously, unsure just what exactly he was referring to. She snatched the soggy, bulging leather satchel off the ground by its flaccid strap before coming to rest by the stallion’s front and dropping it again. Pointed hips skewed beneath wilting skin as she rocked to rest a hind-hoof in the slush. “What's wrong?” He was not himself she realised suddenly as the thrum of her heart began to quicken – and quickly, appropriately, she felt ridiculous, like perhaps it should have been him all hidden away in the woods to rot.

The Gallant was not so weak or pitiful though; he was everything but, and she felt all the more guilty for letting such trifling tribulations interrupt her life - her common sense. It occurred to her suddenly that she needed help, that this ridiculous, endless bipolar cycle needed to be broken.

Though it was quite probably too little too late (she was damaged, no question about it), Africa reached with pursed lips to brush him; warm breath spilling nearer with concern. He gave her purpose when her spiralling life seemed so unbearably futile; grounds to stop and reflect, to shun her vanity altogether. She remembered the vicious battle in the northern slopes when Midas had brought down a thug to his knees for her sake – the violence had frightened her, provoked an urge to heal and help, but the one-winged mare had done naught but wallow instead in the misery of an ineffective existence. Selfishness... She had staggered in every direction but the one originally yearned for. Was that her failing?

She was no leader that was a certainty.

She had served Him conscientiously and exclusively, but her faith wavered now beneath guilt. Had she ever been good enough?

She had deviated so far off course, been blinded by greed and ambition, and her heart had been soured terribly by the curse of adulthood. “What’ve I done...” she sighed wretchedly beneath her breath, a wave of hot emotion threatening to glaze her eyes with brine and cripple her weary knees beneath. Who have I become?! A bitter, sullen and volatile individual working as hard as she possible could to ostracise herself from the peaceful good-nature her mother had inspired. Her mind ached for Silas then, beckoning him down from the vague sheet of white, but he had parted from Fina in good faith – content that safety would soon enough descend on the mare he barely recognized.

She needed to start again...