Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna

It was pride that turned angels into devils

They had been walking, travelling, for such a long time that Zahra could no longer count the suns, the moons, or the vast number of snow-burdened trees they had passed. They’d tired quickly of waterlogged loam and the binding vines of that hidden grove to the west, and Camon had led admirably forward into the next of their adventures. Zahra, who adored her brother, trailed with ever increasing strength and enthusiasm (as she would, even to the end of the world). Briskly she trotted, eager to catch up after the glint of old tarnished glass had attracted her fancy. It had been mostly covered in snow, and though beautifully bizarre, its glistening face had been weathered and scratched - she thought, by time. Occasionally she found curious things along the way, and could only guess how they had come to be; so unique, and rare. Once or twice she had probed Camon for an explanation, but as the sun circled overhead, he seemed less and less inclined to feed her childish imagination with theories.

Still the snow lay in thick drifts across their path (perhaps for the stallion it grew less). It seemed to Zahra that the trees had very little weight against the will of winter’s fury, and eventually the wet ice resting upon their boughs slumped loudly to earth. It was a white wonderland, so different to the world she had been born into - so long ago - and while Camon trudged tediously on, the filly cavorted playfully with saturated knees, throwing neat heals to the wind. His smooth, grown up voice ventured back to find her, and twin ears fixed quickly to its note. She still wasn’t exactly sure as to where they were then headed, but she danced forward obligingly to listen as he spoke of the wind still swirling about him - playfully, she called it his very own storm-cloud. He was plagued by it, naturally, and a permanent storm-cloud served perfectly to explain the shifting tides of his mood.

Zahra was yet to find confidence enough to touch it.

She often pondered what burden it must be to lug around, after all the collar she carried across bony, puny withers was probably almost like bearing another her. It was a treasured possession all the same, and through the coldest nights passed, the young filly had imagined the warmth of her late father radiating within.  His milder emerald eyes found her thoughtful gaze and drew it from the twisting blanket of wind cloaking him. Quietly she nodded.

Bird slithered through the trough left in Zahra’s wake, avoiding the clumps here and there lifted by her switching gait. It had been a long journey for each of the foal’s sisters as well, though little Ilham had hardly suffered as each around her had. The web which she had netted through the short flapping mane was littered with drained carcasses, bodies which had once pestered their young host’s steamy monochrome hide. The spider’s favoured food was not in short supply whenever sunlight stroked down, even in these cold, harrowing months. Though not as well fed, Bird had become a rather artful hunter. Her path deviated often to pursue the musk of a starving field mouse, or the murmur of a foraging bird and when all else failed, she snacked on the berries that Camon sometimes discovered for them.

“Do you think winter will end soon?” the foal asked suddenly, tracing the speckled stallion’s slushy path with precision. “I should think this bit is the nicest of Helovia’s land, y’know.” Golden pools lifted to scan the scattered timber ahead, though her brother made it nearly impossible. It was easily the warmth she craved, and forests meant shade, and that meant cold… again. “Don’t ya think?” she pressed a little louder - a little more urgently.