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In the soft predawn light, the meadow lay still and quiet before her feet, as beautiful in its cold perfection as she was flawed. Though equally cold and sparkling as frost dressed every strand of grass and dressed the branches of each tree in pale silver, every single feather upon her outstretched wings, the meadow bore its flaws in quiet acceptance. By no means did the faded brown grass or the fallen leaves diminish its beauty, nor could the thin crust of ice upon the shallow kisses of water make it less appealing. Indeed, the ice merely enhanced these signs of passing time, lent them each a sense of bittersweet grace as the first pale rays of dawn illuminated the frozen pasture, scattering rainbows of light wherever she looked.

Breathing in deeply the cold air, Erthë sighed her equally chilly breath that refused to mist and appear before her eyes. The crunch of frozen grass beneath her cloven feet seemed to echo in the stillness as she strolled down the hill toward the river, the whisper of pale wingtips through the still reeds accenting each measured stride. Would she ever come to wear her years with the same poise and dignity as this autumn meadow did this morning? Would she be able to accept her scars and her flaws - the fear, the worry, the weakness - without breaking beneath their weight? Lately Erthë felt as though she was crumbling to pieces, eroded by the blows circumstance was dealing her. There was so much to see and do, so much she wanted from life and so much she had thought she already understood... But when she was put to the test all she was left with was pain, confusion and humiliation, blood in her mane and scars etched deep into her flesh. In a few days she would be truly of age, her second Frostfall arrived to mark her passage through life... but if things continued like they had so far, how many more would she be there to see?

Already, so much had been lost. An eye, a mother, a functioning family, health and innocence... While she had certainly gained too, it seemed woefully inadequate when compared to what was lost. She would happily trade her mother for the mysterious power that kept her blood cold and let her spread ice around her where she went, and she would give every glittering item worn on her body for a better relation with her father. The herd she lived in and the goddess she adored were blessings, true, but did they truly make up for dreams full of nightmares, or indeed the broken body she tried so desperately to accept?

Slipping down the bank to the flowing river, the young mare leaned out through the mist to peer down into the rippling stream, her reflection only a dark blur that couldn't grant her any clarity. The water was chilly enough to feel refreshing even to one such as her; drinking deeply she wished, not for the first time, that she could be as cold. If only her emotions didn't run as strong and deep as they did, if only she felt no fear, no pain, no love or sorrow... What she wouldn't give to be cold and still as ice, immovable as a glacier, unrelenting and merciless as the approaching winter. Life would be easier if nothing affected her, because without curiosity or overblown confidence she wouldn't have to make mistakes, wouldn't pay the price of recklessness in blood or worry about the future and what it might hold in store for her.

Lifting her eyes - magical and ordinary - from the swilling water she gazed off into the distance, resentful of the sweet joy that ached in her chest on beholding the world.

Why did she have to love it so much? Why did such bright light have to cast such deep shadows?

Why couldn't anything ever be simple?