he used to wonder what a forest was like. Towering trees like silent guardians, reaching up to the heavens. Rabbits hiding in their burrows as their pelts, still mottled with wintry-white, warned against careless excursions in the open. The sweet serenades of finches and thrushes and warblers. Was a forest really so beautiful as to inspire the thick volumes of poetry she had purused in her spare hours? Messalina had once brought the idea of visiting a forest up to Mother, on a lovely spring morning—it was rejected with the same unenthused “I think not, my sweet,” that ended all of the girl's propositions.

Well, after picking her way through a never-ending stretch of forest for more than a week, Messalina can effectively conclude that forests are not, in fact, as wonderful as they are made to sound.

It was day twenty-five. Twenty-five shivering nights since that nightmare of a day, and here she was, still hopelessly lost and probably never finding her way out of this blasted forest. She ducked her head to pass under a low branch, and winced as a strand of her braid caught onto it. Stamping a hoof in frustration, she carefully worked her hair loose while sweeping the long locks of her tail out of the way to avoid another entanglement.

Though she had been on the run and far from any sort of civilization for weeks, that didn’t give one an excuse to let one’s physical appearance reflect the direness of the situation. It took her many mistakes and silent curses (never aloud, that wasn’t proper)  to learn how to bathe herself in the lakes she encountered, and to work out brambles and twigs from her flowing locks without ruining the strands. She frowned at the piece that now protruded from her braids. Her morning’s labor was ruined by one branch, and that was almost enough to sour her already dreadful mood.

As she prepared to unravel her plait and redo it, a soft melody reached her ears from among the trees. The presence of another? Messalina's breath stilled as she willed herself to repress any expectations. The last time she expected something, that ended in Mother vanishing into thin air and enraged citizens brandishing torches at her. She would remain wary until the stranger proved to be without hostile intent. Silently, she followed the voice until it originated from somewhere just in front of her. Through the darkness of the night, she made out the form of the night singer.

A maiden of white feathers, edged with blush pink, stood under the light of the moon. Her eyes were closed, evidently lost to her melody as she sang. Messalina surveyed the maiden, from the way her snowy wings folded elegantly around her, to the graceful arch of her neck. From the way she held herself, Messalina assumed she was of a noble's status, or at least educated at that level. It made approaching her more desirable, but the girl sighed as she took in her own appearance. The stranger was a thing of beauty, and Messalina despised having to face her in her current condition.

However, survival came first. With resignation, Messalina approached the mare until she was a respectable distance away. She lowered herself into a short but elegant bow as she spoke. "I am sorry to interrupt, but I wish to ask if you are familiar with these lands." She hesitated for a moment before continuing on. "I am a traveler, and weary of the restless nights. I would be pleased to learn if there was a town nearby where I could stay."

frozen hearts growing colder with time