Lets Make Memories .::CLOUD::.

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Her antlers ached, her knee's nearly buckled beneath her weight, and her croup was frosted by the specs of snow that rained down on her fragile frame. She saw the pillar, standing in the distance, and with each step it seemed to become farther and farther away. Rocks started to find their way into her visions, no, boulders, and with the last of her strength, she plopped her stiff white body next to one, hoping to block out the wind.

Why was she here? She was trying to get to paradise, trying to get to her happy place. She was so lonely, nowadays, and maybe going somewhere most likely deserted wouldn't help, but she was desperate. Her heart was peeling, breaking away and splashing into a pool of black. She could feel it, the stages of depression worsening with every day, week, month. She had no reason to keep walking, but she still willed herself to. She had hope, faith, something was out there for her to discover, to seize. All she could do was wish. The mare folded he legs beneath her body, and tucked her head into her chest. The tips of her antlers fanned out, gently touching the snow, making her shiver more violently. Her mane fanned out across nape, giving of a weak source of shelter from the wind. Fever sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to sleep. It wasn't the end for her, the gods wouldn't choose such an easy way out.

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The White Quabri’s Rishi Pillars are a bitter place. The air could be biting cold or suddenly warm, all changing erratically from instant to instant. The weather could play tricks and games with a weary traveler’s mind, eventually numbing one’s senses to either the cold or heat. It could all feel the same: simply, bitter.

Kabocha braved the staggered drops in temperature over the plateau and peaked into the entrance of the White Quabri. The doe did not dare venture too far, as even a simple-minded farming deer like herself knew that the only safe place in Altarspire was Winterheld. Beyond Rishi’s Pillar was wilderness of icicle cold that froze like knives, and Kabocha knew the wind and cold was too much for a little doe such as herself.

Several hours ago she had witnessed the figure of a deer in the distance, trekking up the mountain path into the frigid heights of the Quabri. Some aspect of Kabocha’s intuition had made her worried about the mysterious soul, so she had followed the traveler all the way from Winterheld, breathing hard and exhausted as the hike winded her and taxed her already sore limbs.

She knew the Master of the Farm would not be happy that she strayed far from Winterheld. In fact, Kabocha’s Salommite Landlord had brought her to Winterheld to help pull and carry cartloads of fresh crops to the frigid cold District Altarspire. In several hours, he would want her back to pull an empty cart, maybe loaded with traded furs, back to their plantation in Kosov. He would be very angry if he found her missing.

But Kabocha measured her time and hoped to get back as soon as she was sure about this mysterious traveler—a female, antlered-equine of some sort. It worried Kabocha that the mare was alone… and about the way she looked when she walked… It had caught Kabocha’s eye when they passed each other on the Mountain Road, and it made the doe uneasy to the extent she slowed and reversed direction just to be sure the mare wouldn’t fall over or do something unpredictable like that.

In the distance, Kabocha saw the mare collapse in the snow.

The doe gasped, and picked up her legs high and sort of half-hopped through the heavy snow towards the fallen figure. It was an awkward lope, but it sufficed to get her there.

“Miss! Are you alright?!” She cried, anxious and beginning feeling the cold.

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Was that..a voice? the mare perked an ear, twisting it behind her, scanning the area for any sign of life. She heard nothing but the howling of the wind, and slowly pinned the ear back to her head. The mare was shaking more violently now, her hoofs frosting over. The boulder was doing nothing to prevent the cold, but did offer a little bit of warmth from the wind. Fever scrunched down in the snow, hoping to create a type of bowl for her to blanket herself in. It was a fetal attempt, but one had to try. Fever was withering, slightly, but she was. Her coat was even more ragged, uneven to were parts were longer than others, and the glow she had around her eyes was dimming, her joints were coming with what felt like a slow case of arthritis, and she wasn't even old yet. Merely in her 200's.

The horned equine felt the vibrations now, the pounding of the earth, making her muzzle twitch with every hit. Fever raised her head now, searching for the irritable source, only to see a shadow, bounding its way awkwardly towards her. Fever instantly lifted her head, trying to stand on those darn wobbly legs of hers. She lifted herself halfway before plopping her back end on the ground, and hanging her head in defeat. She was too weak, to feeble to even get up. All she needed was some carnivorous animal to find her laying here, defenseless, and against all odds.

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It was no use! Kabocha saw the mare pull herself up, only to collapse again. The chital doe reached the prone equine in the snow and slid to a stop. She saw now that even in the ice and cold, the horned mare was quite beautiful. There were scars on her shoulders, and although her coat was gray and unkempt, it was clear the horse must have been a majestic equine in the past. What could have happened to bring someone like her to this state?

The doe looked about helplessly around her, and she knew there was no way a small-framed deer such as herself would ever be able to lift a full-grown mare. Kabocha lowered her head and pushed at the horned mare’s shoulders, wishing with all that she had that she would wake up. All this time she was whispering, calling, crooning, begging, pleading for the fallen equine to stand.

“We must go back down the mountains! Please! You can’t stay here any longer!”

If night came, the temperatures would really drop and the both of them would freeze to nothingness. It might have been wise to have run back down for help, but Kabocha did not dare leave the mare’s side. She seemed so close to slipping away!

Exasperated and desperate, the chital doe pulled herself up and tried using the crown of her head to push the mare in the snow. But the horned fallen female was far too heavy for her, and Kabocha’s hooves slipped in the snow. She kept trying, and soon there was a streak of shifted and streaked white where a deer’s tracks slid and slided—the chital herself ever so stationary with no ground gained.

What could be done?!

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Fever felt the nudge, and noticed the does presence, and the moving of her lips, but couldn't hear a thing. The does was doing something, anything, and all it was doing was iritating Fever more. Then, the words played clarly in her ears, ad instantly Fever gave a scowl of disatisfaction.

"I'll be doing no such thing! I've come this far.." Fever paused, letting a cough erupt from her lungs, its gurgling sound never ceasing to disgust her."You'd be wise to leave.." she trailed off, laying her head in the snow. Her forelock tossing madly in the wind, pices of straw like hair coating her eyes in th most discomforting way.

She cound't find her words anymore, like the storm had covered them, too. She slightly rocked her head, before her eyesight wen't blurry, and she was lulled to sleep by the wind and the does pittiful cries.

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Very short, but im at a hotel, so little internet service!

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“There’ll be no such thing!” Kabocha exclaimed in angry retort. “I’m getting off this wretched mountain and so will you!”

The doe was riled now, partially exasperated that the ice-covered fallen mare seemed so unwilling to move. She did look beautiful, at least much more so than the common field draft-horse that spent their lives toiling on harsh leather harnesses, mud and dirt, and cruel plantations. Kabocha knew nothing about the horned mare before her, but surely the fallen horse had something to appreciate or value. Freedom to run or wander where one wants, for example—something that draft servants like Kabocha didn’t have.

Urged on by renewed purpose, Kabocha closed her eyes and urged the smallest roots of frozen plant-life underneath the snow to come alive, crack through the frost and grow towards her. She wasn’t even sure if it’d work, but with the erratically warm then cold temperatures of Rishi’s Pillars, who knew what could grow here?

She was in luck, because a small, half-dried and nearly dead shrub was near enough for her purposes. It would be hard to coerce the frozen plant to extend its roots to where Kabocha wanted, seeing that the weather had nearly killed the poor plant in the first place, but there was no choice.

The doe bent her limbs and folded into the snow, knowing that with this kind of difficult heavy-lifting magic, she probably wouldn’t be able to remain standing once she started. Kabocha let out a brief murmur of a prayer before she started, begging the powers that be to protect her from losing consciousness due to exhaustion and cold. Then, she closed her eyes and let the magic flow.

Kabocha became the plant, shaping, folding, twisting, reaching, yearning. It was terrible, bitterly cold, and empty. There was no happiness in the ice, and the shrub was unwilling to let itself change in such an unnatural way. It will die! Kabocha felt this in the plant as she felt the crack of limbs and the groan of roots and wood. The shrub did not want to die, and Kabocha was killing it, deforming it, twisting it to what it was not. It was bitter cold, cold cold. Don’t kill me! It hurts, it’s cold, and there’s nothing here. It felt like dying. It hurt.

Cold.

Kabocha lost track of time before she was finished.

The doe felt light-headed, and it seemed like there were floating lights around. She felt dizzy from the magic, and her coat was plastered with new crystals of ice that had formed through the passing moments. Kabocha felt too weak to stand, and the cold had seemed to paralyzed her through her bones. She willed herself to get up, but found herself unable to. The doe had no energy, exhausted to her last breath. The icy air stung her lungs, and the cold was everywhere. It even felt cold inside of her, and her heart seemed to be frozen to ice.

Less than a few steps away, the shrub had become a sled of tangled roots and wood. A simple tug could set it free from the ice, and it could sit one. The shrub was dead.