there are many paths to tread
Toulouse was glad - not for the first time - for the heavy crimson scarves hanging at his sides.
Of course, it would be better yet if they covered more of him, if they shielded his entire back and belly and legs from the bite of winter. He’s never have to grow a winter coat again, would remain his sleek, summer self forever.
Or, he contemplated as he crossed between snow-laden trees, frost crunching underhoof, I could go somewhere warm, somewhere I never had to be cold. But the only place like that, at least that he had found in Novus, was Solterra. And oh, how he hated the desert - he had done his time there already. Now it was his brother’s turn.
As the trees parted, the white of the fields was nearly blinding. Gone were the vibrant colors of fall, the warmth of autumn’s sun. Wildflowers were a thing of the past, all the color replaced with something cold and sterile. Toulouse nearly jumped back in surprise when the snow reached well past his knees with his first step, so deep compared to the spare inch that had covered the forest floor. And yet, he grit his teeth and trudged on, a dream of spring dancing through his mind.
He almost ignored the other horse at first, intent on walking straight past. But then he heard the sizzling, saw the steam rising from the ground, witnessed the puddles left in the stallion’s hoofprints. And just like that, the horned man altered his course and headed for the stranger.
“Hello!” he called out, pushing snow out of his way with every step. “It’s a bit brisk out for a walk, isn’t it?”
But he was still watching the stranger’s movements, still listening for the steam, wondering - hopefully - if it was only his hooves that caused such a phenomenon, or if it was perhaps the stallion himself?
There was only the one way to find out.
@Sol Bestiam
