It was to the snow he fled, when he needed safety — sanctuary. And now, he desperately needed it. He was not hunted, not by anything alive, but he felt haunted, by the world he had left behind. An odd dream, perhaps even shared, he could take. His own emotions, he could not, and so he had tried to not ponder them — no point in beating his heart bloody, if he wasn't sure he'd even touched minds with her at all. Maybe he was just going slightly insane, and not entirely mad. Maybe he'd manage to.. survive here, absurd as the notion was. Maybe he'd find a way out.

Then Onni had appeared.

Whatever went on here, it was driving him mad. Somehow these bits and pieces of his old life, of reality shining through into his sick nightmare, hurt so much more than being separated from them. He could take their familiar faces and unfamiliar personalities, for they kept changing all the time, so what did it matter if Psyche loved him one day and Snö didn't exist the next? It was mind-wracking as he had no stability, no clue what would happen, but he could sort of just take it in a stride and keep moving on. The world did, after all.

But these glimpses of life... They were what he wanted, what he had been forced from, but he was unable to return, no matter how close to their images he pressed himself. They tore at his heart in a way that the twisted alterations couldn't, and he'd left the Dragon's Throat ancient, now-gone forest behind and fled to the safety of the snows. Irma flew above him in the sky, keeping a sharp eye out in case Time would lurch again and spit him back into the world where the copies frolicked — right now, he was stuck in some variant of its far past, the odd tree breaking the horizon here and there a testament to that. He desperately wanted to avoid that realm of alternate selves.. better to be stuck here, where he was alone, than with the faces of his known ones paraded before him. Snorting out a plume of condensed air he kept striding through the snow, something purposeful in his step as his body worked itself warm and sweaty. He didn't care that it'd freeze on him later, he needed the movement to keep his mind off things.

And again, the boundary weakened, and the Frostheart's figure tracked a lonely path across the vast expanse of snow, not too far from the pair of stallions. He left no discernible trail in their world, the sky visible through his alabaster body — his path had no beginning, and no end.