Despite the varying lengths of strides in their group, they made fairly good time and stopped to rest at a frozen waterfall. There was a variety of wild swoops and curves about it, as if it had been rushing quite fast the moment it had been frozen. The mountain peaks were smaller behind them, and to the west a bit over the waterfall Chance could see the massive blue glacier.
“I am so hungry.” Fox pawed at the snow, searching for grass. “Why does this snow have to be so deep?”
“It’s Powder-Snow.” Thornbrook grunted. “The worst kind when it comes to digging, but at least it doesn’t pack in your hooves.”
“I suppose that’s true.” The Land-Horse switched hooves and began pawing with the other hoof. Three hands down, sprigs of green showed through the snow. Fox tore at it, apparently not caring that half of it was snow.
Willowlake began pawing at the snow herself. “I’ve never had to dig for my food before.” She said. “It doesn’t snow back home. It’s just cold and wet swampiness in the winter and muggy and hot bogginess in the summer.”
“It snows in Prairie Tribe.” Chance muttered. “But we usually migrate to our southern fields so it’s not too thick. I heard of a mare who tried to stay behind in the north and ended up buried in every snowstorm that passed through on its way to Rock Tribe.”
Fox spat out a rock with disgust. “It just freezes over back home. We get snow but it’s an arid climate, so usually we just deal with frozen rivers.”
Thornbrook dipped his head down and stuck his horn into the snow. It glowed orange and he melted a large circle. Everyone stared at him.
“I pawed through three hands worth of cold when you could have just melted it?” Fox sputtered. “Why didn’t you do that before?”
Thornbrook shrugged his spotted wings. “You didn’t ask.”
After Thornbrook and Goldstream had melted a big enough patch for them all to graze, they settled to eating. None of them said anything for a long time, and the sound of grass being chewed filled their silence.
Willowlake raised her head. “I came up with a name for us.”
Chance rolled his eyes. Not this again. “What is it with you and names?”
“I don’t know. Just sounds right I guess.”
“What is it?” Fox asked through a mouthful of clover. Even Goldstream and Thornbrook lifted their heads to watch her.
“Well, we come from a Tribe, a Clan, a Band, and a Council.” She said, a little timid with the sudden attention. “But what are we all doing here?”
“We already ruled out “travelers”.” Fox mumbled.
“Well, it’s not quite that. I was thinking we could call ourselves the Wanderers.”
“Wanderers? Or Seekers?” Goldstream put in, a twinge of excitement in her voice. “I mean, “Wanderer” gives the idea that we don’t know what we’re looking for. But we do, don’t we? We’re looking for a new start, a new life.”
“Fair point.” The Unicorn nodded. “So, I suppose we’re the Seekers.”
The others mumbled approval, nodding their heads. Chance said nothing, yanking at the frozen grass fiercely.
Fox was looking for a new home. Willowlake was looking for a new family. Thornbrook and Goldstream were looking for safety.
But what was he looking for? He’d left to avoid pain and grief, but that had done no good. It had followed him, accompanied by guilt.
He was a Wanderer, not a Seeker.
He remembered his conversation with Thunder in the hole, way back when they had been captives of the Shakira. What a brat he’d been. He wanted to protect Sunrise, but in the process he’d become paranoid that he wouldn’t be a good protector and provider.
“Enough with the “what ifs”.” Thunder had said. “What-ifs never do any good.”
The ironic thing now was that all he could think of were the what ifs of what would have happened if he had stayed behind in Prairie Tribe.
But could he go back now? Was it too late for that? The damage had been done—he’d abandoned his daughter. Dad would be angry. Cascade would be ashamed.
It’s not too late. He could imagine Sunrise’s voice whispering to him.
He shook his ears, looking between the small mountains in the east and the glacier to the west, then looked at his friends. Go or stay. It wasn’t too late to change his mind.
Or is it?
***
Chance was unable to sleep that night.
Fox, exhausted from lack of food and traveling, had actually pawed a ditch in the snow to sleep in. Willowlake was snuggled next to him, snoring lightly. Goldstream was asleep in another ditch, while Thornbrook stood guard against wolves and Ice Dragons.
He slowly got up. His brain had been tumbling all night long. Go or stay. Go or stay. The choice only had one answer and he couldn’t help but feel that he had to decide tonight, or at least soon.
Thornbrook turned his large head, noticing Chance’s movement. “You’re awfully restless tonight.”
He stretched his wings, once again thanking Willowlake inside his head for restoring them. “Just thinking.”
He stood beside Thornbrook, barely noticing the uneasy twinge in his spine at standing so close to the powerful stallion. He gazed at the flashes of color floating in the night sky. “The Winter Lights. I’ve heard about them but never seen them.”
Thornbrook nodded solemnly. “Every year when we migrate, we see them.”
“They’re spectacular.’ Chance looked over at the other stallion, wondering if he should bring up his suspicions from earlier. “Is Goldstream…” He dropped off, feeling heat coming to his cheeks.
The Alicorn nodded. “Our first foal. How did you know?”
“The looks.” He admitted. “Me and my mate had our first foal recently and I gave her the same looks as you did.”
“They were that obvious?” Thornbrook grunted, lowering his gaze.
“Not to an unknowing individual.” Chance shrugged. “Congratulations.’
“Thank you.” The stallion turned his head to eye him. “And what about your mate and foal? Where are they?”
Chance lowered his head. “Back in Prairie Tribe. My mate is buried under fifteen hands of dirt.”
“Oh.” Thornbrook shuffled his hooves. “I’m very sorry. What was her cause of death?”
“A variety of things.” He sighed. “But the birth of our daughter was the last straw.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” The spotted stallion looked at his back. “If I may ask… Why is your name Chance if you are not one of the Grounded?”
Why do people always ask me that?
“I didn’t want my old name.” He grunted, feigning a yawn to act tired and end the conversation. He didn’t have the energy to talk about this.
“That’s a little odd.”
He switched his tail. “It was Nightleaf. My father named me. My mother wanted my name to be Chancewing, but agreed that Nightleaf was better.”
“So what changed?” Thornbrook asked. “To have a single name… is it not a thing of shame?”
“According to some.” He said with a roll of his eyes. “I became Chance on the night that my mother died. I didn’t call myself Chance until my father’s recommitment to another mare barely three months later.”
“Ah. I see.” Thornbrook looked out across the snow. “There is strife with your father.”
“There is always a bit of a strain between Father and Son when they are becoming a stallion.” Chance snapped, wishing he would just drop the subject. He didn’t need council from another stallion. “I just happened to lose my mother during that time, and it all downscaled from there.”
“I don’t think that’s always true.” Thornbrook murmured. “I relied very heavily on my father in those years, especially after my own mother’s death. And I could always ask him for help when it came to mares.” He looked over at Goldstream. “He was partly the reason I won such a fair heart as hers.”
“Well,” Chance sniffed. “You don’t know my father. And I didn’t need his help to gain Sunrise either. I knew her since I was a foal. She was a refugee, just a suckling. She lost her mother a few months after arriving. After that all she had was me.”
“You were close for a long time.” Thornbrook said softly. “It makes the loss harder.” He seemed to be lost in thought. “And of your daughter?”
He wished he could ignore the Alicorn’s questions, but the larger stallion held some sort of spell over him. Could he know if he lied? How much could he see? He knew Alicorns were so wise some said they understood the secrets of the world itself.
“She was given away to a nursemare.” Chance gritted his teeth as he choked out the answer, knowing what would come next. Here comes the judgement…
“And why are you here and not there with her?”
He didn’t answer, unwilling to admit the truth, although he was pretty sure the Alicorn already knew the answer.
Thornbrook waited several long minutes before inhaling. “Chance, I’m not much of an expert on this, but I don’t think you have a place here on this journey.”
He narrowed his eyes, feathers rattling. “What do you mean? Of course I do. I started this group.”
“Maybe so. But going to the Inner Northlands is not the journey you need to make.” He turned his head so both of his large brown eyes were set on Chance, watching his every move.
Chance swished his tail. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You hate her, don’t you?”
They can see everything. He refused to respond, holding back the clot of tears in his throat.
“I can see it, Chance, and you know that.” Thornbrook whispered. “Alicorns have greater powers than mere spells. There’s a reason others call us the Prophets.”
Chance straightened. “I don’t want to hate her.” He choked. “But I can’t help but remember that her birth was what killed Sunrise.”
“But you just told me it was a variety of things, didn’t you?” Thornbrook asked. “Your daughter had no control over the circumstances she was born into. You haven’t even mourned, have you?”
Okay. That was it.
“I mourn,” Chance snarled. “I mourn every day I wake up, and find she’s gone. Every time I look around I find something I want her to enjoy, but I can’t point it out, because she was taken from me far too soon. We had our future planned, foals we wanted to have, enjoying our old age together with grandfoals at our hooves. And it was all dashed apart by my failure to protect her. I wasn’t there when she was captured. I couldn’t fight the Shakira who captured me. And I let a stupid, wingless stallion lock me in a hole and beat her up. She is dead because of my failures. My daughter is an orphan BECAUSE OF ME!”
The whole rant was said in a harsh whisper, but it might as well been a scream. He turned away, eyes burning. He would not, could not let this stallion see him cry.
Thornbrook waited a few minutes before he moved toward him, brushing his shoulder with a spotted wing. “What are you going to do about it?”
“What?” He sputtered and reeled, ears pinned. “What are you talking about?”
“You say everything that happened is your fault. In that case, what are you going to do about it, to make it right?”
“But… I can’t do anything.” He said, shaking his head. “I can’t bring Sunrise back.”
“Who says that bringing Sunrise back will fix things?” Thornbrook asked. “With all respect, the first thing you need to realize is the ridiculousness of your words.”
Chance stiffened. Ridiculousness? This was beginning to feel like that talk in the hole with Thunder.
“Could you control the Shakira? Could you stop them from attacking?”
He slid his lower jaw from side to side, considering his words. “No.”
“Could you control the events of your imprisonment?”
“No. But I could have.”
“No, you couldn’t. Shakira will do what Shakira will do, regardless of how much power their opponents have.” Thornbrook switched his tail “If you ask me, the only reason you blame your daughter is because you’re scared of blaming another, the one you’re truly angry at.”
Chance stared at the Alicorn, both alarmed and amazed that the stallion could notice so much. Thornbrook just chuckled. “You forget the age differences between our cultures, Chance. Alicorns can live for five hundred years. I’ve got twenty eight years of experience and counseling from wise friends whereas you’ve had… ten?”
“Something like that.” Chance muttered.
“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re angry against the King?”
He lowered his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. “He could have saved her.” He whispered. “He could have saved my Sunrise and he didn’t. Why? Why didn’t he stop Stormblade? Why didn’t he stop the Shakira? And why did he have to make our foal, my daughter, the Snow Filly? A foal requiring more responsibility than any other, save for the Blood Filly. A foal that I have to raise alone.”
“The Fillies of Blood and Snow require no more responsibility than any other filly.” Thornbrook said quietly. “They must, in fact, be raised as any other mare of the King should be raised. Separating them out unnecessarily could cause strife against their calling.” He looked at Chance. “Your hate against the King is something you must work out on your own. But do not hate your daughter in the process.”
The massive stallion turned toward the snowbeds. “If you still cannot sleep, then I think I will turn in, if you don’t mind.”
Chance nodded numbly, staring at the snow, cast in green and pink lights from the Winter Lights.
He wanted to scream at the skies. Demand of the King why he would take away what he loved so dear.
But the words you still left her beat in his head with Sunrise’s voice, stinging as if they were several hornets attacking his conscience.
So he stood in the snow, choking out stifled sobs and thinking of all he had left behind, while his comrades slept soundly behind him, unaware of his grief.