Snö was traveling far from home. With every step she took, she ventured towards the forest that drank in the sunlight and stubbornly refused to admit it. The sky was turning red, bloody red fading with indigo and deep blue, with the one star that glowed, the star of the North Snö had slowly had begun to enjoy, for all of its many faults. It was not the Edge- too many scents were new, and too many old were gone. Thais, the black Monster, with a horn through his heart; Lucius and Lloyd, the two brothers who had simply gone from sight; and Mauja had disappeared for much more than his due course of time; Crash Course, Crowley, and Chernobyl; too new. She missed the Edge, and she wished there was no need for secrecy of racism. The Plague deserved to be feared, for all its swift, cold, working under the cover of clouded nights. Snö was not an idiot, for all her vindictive faults- she understood how secrecy to lead to killing. But why must it be so agonizingly slow? Dammit all!
Snö snorted as she moved, swinging her round hips and using everything she could to portray herself as gorgeous; for with her frost-coated horn and varnished body, she was beautiful, more than beautiful. She was like the North Star, or the moon, or a pearl.
Again the young mare snorted, swishing her silky tail and bobbing her head in annoyance. Numbers. They needed numbers! Her father said they should only reserve judgement for the oldest and most important of members. Mauja could not be more idiotic in that manner. If someone was fool enough to tell everyone, the Plague could slaughter them, eradicate the threat of being exposed. And then the ones who were told. At that moment, Snö was plunged into the deep shadows of the darkest forest of them all, where her coat shone ever more and she moved with a grace unparalleled. It was not long before she heard the crackle of hooves snapping twigs and saw a glimpse of deep blue, with a flash of white. A curved horn, near touching the mare's ears, dark as shadow. For it was a mare, smelling of wilderness and something a touch like desperation.
It was unicorn, a fellow, and she deserved not to look so down. Snö moved, light-footed but not entirely quiet, having no want to terrify the mare. Not quite was she in such a cruel mood. Not yet.
"It's dangerous to be out in the wild alone. I am Snö, of a herd to the north." Tones frosted as always yet with a pinch of innocence that was a lie. Her innocence was stripped from when she was a foal, and in her first year alone she had plunged her horn through the heart of an equine.
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