Swing me gently. [Risathe]

[Deleted]

Crias

Winter had fallen upon all of the lands, and Halete Forest was no expeption. Though some trees braved through the winter, most went into a slumber and awaited the renewal Spring brought about. The coldest season was one that both irritated and interested Crias, for he had a distaste for cold but also a never-ending fascination for what wonders it hid. Each time the season arrived, he would brave through and tell himself that he would be better for it. His coat grew more and more as Winters passed, and come his seventh he had become quite acclimated to the change. However, this winter was probably weak compared to the lands that housed the snow throughout the year. The dark stallion visibly shuddered at the thought of living in this kind of environment. Though, the thought and idea did inspire curiosity as to how the land's creatures adapted and thrived.

Pondering the thoughts in his head, Crias made his way to a hollow and kept an ear on the area, but one also on the soft crunching from his hooves. It always seemed like an interesting thing, how such a sound could come from something so.. white, and cold. He thought back to his first winter, how deceitful the snow had been. It looked fluffy and inviting! It was a different story entirely when he plunged face-first into a nearby pile. His mother would chuckle, calling out to him about how he should have known better and that his hooves should have indicated the cold. But his hooves at the time were essentially numb from the cold, so of course he'd no indicator of the actual temperature. As a foal and young one, his hooves were much more soft. Now, as he lifted his right fore and extended it, craning his neck between his chest in a somewhat awkward position and having to stretch to his hind for balance, he noted matter-of-factly that his frogs were very well callused this time around. It took him a few good months of conditioning, changing the terrain, as he aged and thought more about what he could do to better brave the winters. Many other horses had herds which provided shelter and warmth, and the knowledge to the best spots to avoid the bulk of winter. He, however, never felt welcomed in a herd. It didn't help that he was a stallion, but something about his approach (he supposed) had to have been.. offsetting.

He remembered trying to join herds a couple of years back, and each time he would run through their trial he'd never make it to the end. It was always something.. odd. Like he offended a mare, or a filly thought he looked at her cross. He 'trampled on the daisies too often' or 'never remembered the right path' -- something came in the way and he was essentially kicked out due to irking the herd members. He'd learned from these events, though, an important note: To take things in stride, not to get so bunched up over what others thought. Even if he tried to be something pleasant to the past herd, it meant nothing to the one he was trying to befriend. He was better off being himself, taking things in stride, and doing what he could to keep peace with himself. Over the years he met many a mare and stallion, befriended some, and went on his merry way. Crias had begun to think that perhaps he wasn't meant to pair up with another equine; perhaps a nomadic life was the best suited for him. It went against most of his instincts, and he grimly recalled the nights of fear and terror in a new location, but -- Crias shook his head of the thoughts, dispelling them in force. It was no time to dwell on thoughts while moving about. The colored stallion regained himself from his trailing off, his eyes scanning for an inviting place for rest (and perhaps something to eat). It didn't take him long, being in the ever-luscious forest, to find a nicely shaded area underneath one of the trees that fought winter off. He approached with a sigh, the change in lighting and even temperature soothing him. As Crias completely entered the shelter of the tree, he looked around and checked for scents. No one had been around, he quickly discovered, but it was another note that the little nook caused from this tree had offered a few patches of brown grasses.

The stallion wasted no time picking through the patches, tearing the blades softly but with minor haste. Grass didn't come too often in the winter, even though this forest offered plenty. He couldn't even imagine what others were experiencing, in places like the Desert or the Tundra. Crias shuddered again, his wither twitching viciously. With a lash of his tail to his side, he tried to focus more on the grass and less on thoughts of things better left unthought.

NOTES: Risathe Risathe Risathe Risathe Risathe I'm so excited. Uh sorry, he's kinda caught up in all this snow nonsense. YAYTHREAD.

[Deleted]

Risathe

The dead season, as some called the months of winter, had always been a favorite time of hers. The bare trees, frozen rivers and complete emptiness were calming in a way. Risathe hadn’t been born in the snowy tundra to the north, but her mother had, and as that she picked up the winter coat and build with ease. Shaggy hair muddied her colors at the first hint of cold in the air and fat seemed to cling to her bones as easily as a fish clings to water. Even as a foal she had become a hairy mess when it took the others years to gain that status. Risathe had even migrated up into the Northern lands in the past few years before she had returned to the Freelands and Halete Forest. The thought of cold and snow might be comforting, but the loneliness of those lands was not. Very little could survive in the place filled with glaciers and where it snowed most of the year. That which did live turned harsh and unloving. It was no area for a horse.

Snow dropped from the black limb of an oak tree and landed with a silent thud on the already snow blanketed ground. Risathe snorted, twitching her ears towards the sound. Hunters could hide themselves in the softened world, where sound was muted. She paused for a moment, muscles straining but no more sounds came and the mare relaxed. There was nothing for her to be paranoid about. She huffed once more before turning back to her original path, hooves crunching into pristine snow. It seemed like no one had been this way since the last storm. Why would they though? Any sane animal was cuddling up somewhere warm, not growing frosty in the cold day. She only vaguely remembered cuddling up with her mother and other herd members before she had left them. Not wanting to become another foal bearing, dead eyed mare she had wandered off from herd and her family at barely two years of age and had spent the time between that and now just wandering. Sometimes she would join with rogue bands but that was rare. Stallions only seemed to want one thing. Besides, she could take care of herself. Risathe was a rather large and stocky mare, with the feathered stocky build of her northerner mother and some of the speed and wits of her forest dwelling father. She feared nothing short of a pack of wolves or a hungry cougar. Besides, she didn’t particularly get along with others of her kind. Most equines called her snarky or cruel and didn’t want to deal with her ego.

Risathe was even thinking of heading back towards the tundra this year. There were few predators, and those that did stalk the lands found it hard to hide from the watchful eye of a horse, or were too small to be of any threat. As the snow flicked around her hooves and body in a soft spray she even figured the gray land was better than the springs on the south. Who liked heat and sweat anyways? It only made you smell funny and look odd. Though, as the mare became so lost in her thoughts of hating the heat and wonder of snow, she did not realize she had wandered farther into the trees than she had wanted. She also barely noticed as she bumped into a snow laden branch and had the full, fluffy load dumped onto her head. The once flashy coloured mare now squealed in anger and surprise as the snow quickly sunk into her fluffy hair and soaked her to the skin. Risathe leaped forward, full body shaking violently to remove the offending substance from her coat.

Unfortunately, in her angry foalish fit she did not notice she wasn't the only life in this clearing and continued too make sounds quite unlike a proper lady. Risathe may have loved the snow and winter, but she did not enjoy being wet. Wet meant being muddy and that would mean getting even weather to remove the muck from her (rather glorious) coat.