Ophelia moved peacefully out of the forest, watching the trees begin to thin and the pristine white snow become an even, stunning blanket across the once green fields. Birdsong was approaching; she could feel it in her bones and smell it on the air, and she lamented. The beauty of the white would only be seen far to the north, and the journey there was long. The crisp breeze that ran through her hair was like a whispered goodbye, and she sighed as she stepped her cloven hooves onto rocky terrain that soon gave way to sand.
The Throat had not changed much. Sandy dunes were still lovely and the oasis stood, unfrozen, in blue beauty. The only sign of winter was the sparse grass and the slight bite on the wind, but the sun shone clearly and brightly, warming her body almost instantly. Her feathered friend's elderly joints must be feeling much better now, she mused. Heterochromatic eyes gazed out at the land, wondering if she would see any familiar faces from when she was the sleuth; she doubted it with how she heard whispers of Kri's band growing.
Speaking of Kri, she had not left on the most amiable of terms. Perhaps the chocolate mare had forgiven her by now, but Ophelia doubted that very much. Her heart ached for the mare's friendship, but nothing could reverse her actions. Still, being free from herd life was the right path for her to choose; she had been too young to realize that then. Now, she knew who she was and where she belonged.
With a small smile, she glanced at the old mare. "This is the Dragon's Throat," she said quietly. "The ruler is Kri, and she is very protective of her band. Still, I used to live here. I am unsure if she will be opposed to your presence. The weather here must feel better, but we had best not to stray into the borders too much."
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