It was hard to understand that anything could live on the vast, open tundra. But if one looked close enough one would find life… There was the caribou, the rabbits in their white winter clothing, the arctic foxes and even a herd of horses. The frosty landscape was harsh, but far from a no-man’s-land. Food could be found under the snow and lichen clung to almost every little rock.

The herd of horses was all horned. They where unicorns, glorious unicorns - yfir fólk . They had been literally thrown out in the cold, driven away from their homeland by their enemies, beaten and bloodied, but not broken. They would gather more soldiers, increase the number of their troops and take back what was rightfully theirs. There was a young colt among them, a former prince, who wished he could speed up his growing, wished that he had the means to help his father win back the throne. He was Tamlin and his young eyes had seen things a boy’s shouldn’t have too. He was now a confused little colt, still young in mind, but with memories of pain, blood and fighting occupying his brain.

A cold wind was blowing today and Tamlin stood with his snow-flecked butt towards it. His lynx pelt had curled up against his neck, but instinct had told him to turn his back on the wind and thus it almost lifted his cover of off him. He was shivering slightly and his dual colored eyes were half closed. He’d not seen his mother for a while and so he was rather hungry. He’d even stooped to now and then chew on some lichen, just to make his belly stop doing those funny noises. He’d never thought he would trade the sweet, warm milk for dirt-tasting green stuff, but his body gave him no choice.

As he stood there, his rump turned on the wind, he felt a bit lonely and helpless. It dawned on him that he would not always have his mother to lean on, and apparently he couldn’t even count on her to feed him. Tamlin came to the conclusion that he would have to learn how to take care of himself. And he had to learn fast too if he wanted to survive Frostfall. It seemed no one cared about him, but himself. Stupid adults!

[Ooc; I'm working and writing at the same time so it's not the best of posts, well well x3]

Striking mights and maybes even more

A useless thing called life

It's a biting cold again

Winter always came early to the northlands, snow piling itself on the ground already in fall. The nights grew longer, the days shorter, bleaker, and the wind had a bitter bite to it. But when it seemed like the rest of Helovia had finally caught up and drawn the blanket of snow around herself, the north pushed on - savage, relentless. Already the wind bit even sharper, small needles of ice sinking into the skin like hungry teeth. Mauja was used to it, built for it - liked it, even. Masochistic as it might sound, Frostfall was the season that convinced him that he was still alive. There was nothing like drawing a deep lungful of freezing night air, like running through the snow, or watching the cold, distant stars and the dancing fires of the northern lights. And all these things, he found out here, coupled with the keening of the wind and its merciless bite. The scarcity of food didn't concern him overmuch, as he knew to browse wherever he went, never stopping for too long like you could do when grazing in summer. Thick, shaggy fur covered most of him, with the exception of his burnt backside. It was only stubble yet.

A lone figure, and a small one at that, broke the horizon, a stain of darkness against the pristine white. The wind blew in Mauja's face, tiny claws sinking into the sensitive skin, and it brought the clear scent of Tamlin. What was his son doing out here, all alone? Lotus was nowhere in sight, neither was Kou. It looked like they were well and truly alone.

"Halló, sonur," he called, just in case Tamlin didn't catch sight of him. He was, after all, quite hard to spot. And truly, his son looked quite pitiful, ass to the wind and lynx pelt bunched up around his neck like a sail. Sighing, as if to say boys, trust them to get their pelts in a tangle, he ran his muzzle across the colt's forehead, before pushing it against the soft fur of the lynx. On his shoulder, Irma watched with barely blinking eyes as Mauja's attempts to straighten it out failed. No matter that he pushed it against Tamlin's snowy hindquarters and tried to make it snug around him so it'd catch on his dock instead of fly up, it defied him and sprung up like a sail again. Giving a sort of beaten laugh, he spoke again. "Jæja, ég reyndi."

( lol this became crap. xD soooo tired. )