Snow is Dangerous! {O/Coreen}

[{ Opal }]

He was intent on reaching Tin Mine Creek, in hopes of good browsing and a nice drink of ice-cold water. It was rather early in the morning, and Bultarro’s breath left great billows of fog in the chilled air. There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, out of which thin ribbon gums and wide candlebark gums staked out the winter. It made traveling a little slower, but Bultarro was a strong, burly young stallion and he took it all in stride. A silence hung in among the trees and snow, which could be taken as either peaceful or brooding. Today, Bultarro took it as peaceful. The day had been quiet and eventless so far, and he had little reason to believe that this would change.

Bultarro discovered that morning that snow could be dangerous. Who knew? It seemed to be of a perfectly gentle and peaceful nature, perhaps a bit cold at heart, but never deadly. Yet as Bultarro’s hoof went a foreleg’s length underneath the seemingly safe and solid surface, and the rest of him keeled over in an ungraceful tumble, he realized that this was all just a sham. What snow really wanted was to break your legs and make you freeze to death. Not so peaceful at all. Bultarro emerged from his new understanding and found his haunch grazed by a fallen tree trunk, his fetlock aching, and his ice-blue eye two inches away from a stiff branch that seemed perfect for impaling him with. “Hm,” said he, as he slowly gathered his wits and limbs.

Bultarro rose from the snow like a wobbly ghost, a white one with deep bay patches, pale blue eyes, and a creamy, black-tipped mane and tail. A sprinkling of snow coated his back, along with a few twigs he had taken out on his way down. Bultarro blew heavily through his nostrils, a sort of sigh of relief, as he gained his balance and found all his limbs intact. The first thing he did was test his bruised foreleg, and luckily he found it to be in quite good shape. A little pain might haunt it for a little while, but that was something Bultarro could take. It was certainly better than an eye with a branch sticking out of it. So, with resolve to be much more cautious in his steps, Bultarro made his careful, tedious way down toward the creek’s frozen bank.