Fight or flight.
Isn't that the typical choices available in this situation?  For one such as this, only one option is available: flight.

Hooves digging deep into the loam spring an agile body forward, a dainty ghost of a girl slipping between the trees in the night.  Running, running so fast from the terrible villains the night had loosed upon the refuges of her home.  Cream and blue mane of impossible length flying behind her like a flag, the remnants of soft braids all but indistinguishable after the marathon of a sprint undertaken by the maiden.  The only sound in her ears the echoing scream, a screech, a scratching claw in her mind - her mother calling for her to run.  So run she did.  And run she will.

Finally, after hours of the pounding in her chest and under her hooves, the suddenly felt weight of her limbs pulls her toward the ground stronger than the force of her fear pulling her forward.  Slight body collapses midstride, knees buckling from exhaustion, back keeling over, nearly flipping before sliding to a halt on the cool forest floor.  Her pale form lies disheveled on the ground, the mess of her once perfect braids laying like an ugly rug against the green of the forest.  Pine needles dig in under her soft, pale coat, but the dull sting cannot reach her now.  The moon peeking from the branches of evergreen trees patterns her pale figure, and becomes the last kaleidoscope of black and white Zyanya sees before she begins to drift.  The darkness fills her mind, silencing the screams and replacing it with a cold and lonely slumber.  For a while, she sleeps, unaware of her surroundings and dangerously unafraid of the seemingly peaceful forest of which she knows nothing.

The ambushers had disappeared long ago, but who is to say a more dangerous predator does not lurk here?

The sound of an insistent bird is the next thing the wintry maiden remembers.  The moon turned to a pale morning light.  Appalled by her current position, strewn across the forest floor, Zya scrambles to gather her weight upon lithe limbs.  Finding her joints and bones creaking with protest, the little lamb now remembers her wild run.  Hours and hours she ran, but where had she ended up?  Was her family near?

A pale, small face glances around amid the shadows of trees in an unknown realm.  Lavender eyes filled with a hopeful light, slowly dimming as the understanding that she is alone sets in.

For the first time in her short life, Zyanya is alone.

The chattering of birds interrupts with the crashing sound of soft feathers propelling themselves forward and off, scattering like leaves in the wind.  A small face tilts upward, watching the pine branches softly sway from the movement.  Lilac eyes fill with a quiet sorrow, until she hears the newcomer who startled the weak-hearted fowl into taking wing.

Shifting her neck gracefully to turn her visage toward this approaching girl, Zya remains uncertain if the tightness in her chest is relief or panic.  The pallid sun glimmers on a pristine white horn reaching down to a face of warm chocolate, painted slightly with the pastel hues of sunrise.  Eyes a brilliant green, like a rare gemstone, sit in soft feminine features.  For a brief moment, Zyanya wants to abandon her fear from the night before and give the girl a welcoming smile.  Company being a welcome thought to the suddenly abandoned girl in the middle of the forest.  The sharp grip of fear does not shake so easily.  After all, in the night, those who chased hot on her heels for miles were unicorns.  Could she be one of them?

Quietly, the wintry colored maiden stands, hair moving slightly in a spring breeze through the trees.  Lilac eyes watch this stranger with distrust, even has the cloven hoof moves hesitantly and considerate words take shape.  Had Zyanya been allowed to interact with the lowborn of her nation, she could know for certainty whether this was friend or foe.  Did the common have brown coats, or the pale colors of her highborn kin?  Did they have split hooves?  Tails of a lion?  The musings of her mind slam shut as she realizes how rude her actions are.  Ignoring company would never be allowed in her home, unless this girl were a servant.  "H-hello," a meek, girlish voice stammers from her mouth, softer than spring rains.

Looking more closely at her figure, the stranger appears almost royal.  Different from Zya's own natural beauty, this stranger holds an uncommon appearance and elegant features.  Likely, one such as this came from lofty beginnings.  Almost feeling relief, it is then the soft colored maiden's eyes fall upon the deer for the first time.

Startled like the birds in the trees, Zyanya takes an involuntary step back, her rump hitting unceremoniously on a tree as her eyes grow wide.  A dark colored stag with light, rune markings stands poised by this strange mare.  The mare seemed completely unconcerned that a deer was following her like an obedient dog.  What in the world?  An uneasy snort looses from her lungs, as Zya sidesteps from the tree and places a few more steps between herself and the unnatural pair.  The clamoring of her heart against her ribcage reminds her of flight once more... if only, like the birds, she could take wing and leave.

Delicately, her voice wavers out of her mouth.  "Did they send you to kill me?" she asks, foolishly, for any assassin would not freely give this information.  Of course, how in the world would a wallflower know anything of assassins?

Surprise softens the feared expression of the maiden as she notes the deer's downtrodden expression, head tilted toward the earth. Still, the wracking of her tiny heart against fragile bones maintains the worry in her face, the horror in the back of her mind. A small pale face much like her own with the hollow, unwavering gaze of the dead flashes briefly from the chasms of her mind, unwanted. A mighty shiver takes hold of her body, lilac eyes going back to look toward the chocolate mare's face, hoping to drive away the nightmare of her past.

Slowly, so slowly, the other unicorn's head twists in a denial, shirking the title of murderer. Were Zyanya a wiser girl, the word of a stranger would not have been enough to satisfy her after running all night from those trying to steal her head from her neck. Zya is not a wise girl.

Even before the exclamation of a no breaks the seal of the warm brown mare's lips, the air around the pallid girl feels lighter. Instantly, the weight on her chest slides, the ghost of her sibling fades from her mind's eye. A tremendous sigh of relief floats from soft, pink lips into the crisp morning air. As she speaks, Zyanya tilts her head toward the loam of the forest. Her mane rushes forward to crowd her face as the delicate flower begins to breathe normally once more, setting the beat in her chest to a much more pleasing tempo.

Who are they?

If only Zyanya knew how to properly answer this question. The only explanation the dainty mare had received before attempting to flee her home in the middle of the night were the hushed tones of her parents, heatedly discussing the revolt of the lower class and what it had cost them. Her own mother unable to mourn the lost of her youngest daughter, forced to put into a motion a plan to escape while Zya walked the old paths of her childhood home in a fog. The idea of her sister as a corpse still hid underneath a mountain of denial, and perhaps her legs had yearned to walk the length of her home in search of that familiar face.

With a quiet tilt of her head, Zyanya looks toward the pale rising of the sun through the branches. Her voice, timid and weak, barely registers over the sound of a whisper. "The lowborn of my nation... they ambushed us as we attempted to flee to the North Haven." Closing pastel colored eyes, the mare looks fragile, tinier than she had been just a moment ago. "They killed my sister, among many others of the high houses." Admitting the death aloud sounded foreign to her own ears, her tongue tasting bitter after the words graced her lips.

Opening her eyes, Zyanya looks back toward the stranger in the forest with her odd companion, proffering a smile that felt more like shedding a tear. Crying upon the first meeting is terrible manners, though, and she simply could not have that.

A captivated audience watches her, the pale girl in the middle of a sunrise, as she lays her past out before them. Skeletons worn on the outer edge of her skin instead of buried deep inside, Zyanya never held a secret. Honest to a fault, sincere without regard for her own preservation, a trusting girl in a world full of liars and cheats. Even when the girl had been nothing but a wallflower among the noble, many had lied to her and used her easy going sensibilities to climb closer to the chief of their realm.

Luck began to shine upon the lonesome girl in the forest, having met two amiable strangers with which to shoulder her burdens. The dangers of the world did not linger in the heart of her new company, as far as could be gathered. Instead, the pair remained silent and calm throughout the strangely innocent actions of the little lamb.

After the parade of her former horrors, the chocolate mare offers condolences in a soft voice. Zyanya smiles pleasantly to try to rid the feelings of sorrow from the hearts of this stranger, for that had not been the intention of telling her story. She had simply been answering a question. "Thank you," a warm appreciation of the kindness of a stranger in the forest.

Eyes begin to drift around her now, wondering if it would be possible to find her way to the North Haven by herself. Even from home, Zyanya never knew the route to the safe meadows of the north. Having spent very little time outside of the noblelands, the girl could not even find North if she had to. Hope of seeing her lost family dwindled, somewhere in her heart a sinking feeling welled, dark oceans filling the spaces left from the severing of their company. Home, where was that?

Ears tilt toward the pair once more as the maiden begins speaking, thoughts swerving from the wreckage of her former world back to reality. No sense in mourning more before this gentle mare, Zyanya had already exhausted the kindness of a stranger... or so she thought. Frost Fyre - a strange name befitting a strange world. The pastel hued girl listens, enthralled by the description of the Aurora Basin and the briefest mention of magic. In her home, tales of the ancestors spoke of unicorns holding mystical powers granted by the elements. Shrouded in mystery and guarded by the scholars of her land, the knowledge of magic became a legend told to children. An archaic time filled with glorious heroes and beautiful damsels, the fore fathers of a now mundane nation trapped in civil turmoil.

Come with me to the Basin, if you'd like. An invitation so unexpected, Zyanya could have been blown over by a slight breeze. Instead, a smile graces the gentle face of the pale maiden, her heart easy to read in her lilac eyes as excitement and wonder erases the former troubles from her mind. "Really? That would be wonderful!" Somewhere safe... the Aurora Basin. Maybe she was dreaming, for last night certainly felt like a nightmare.

"Oh...," the girl's training catches up with her. Standing tall for her small stature, the maiden tilts her head respectfully toward the ground. "How rude of me, I nearly forgot. I am Zya, short for Zyanya."

"I would be delighted to come to the... Aurora Basin."