The Academy: beneath a castle of glass and ice

Keira is a foreigner. And yet, this world of elements where winter so comfortably settled, Keira heard relentless calling. It stirred her restless soul, and she wandered. She sought, and she searched. She was purposeless, both bold and deceptively soft. Her beauty in itself was deceptive - her dark chocolate brown gleaming against black and chrome. Nothing about Keira was simple. From her thought provoking lineage (rooted deeply here, in fact) to the frigid and sleepless restlessness of her double edged being - sharp, cold, and cruel, yet soft and beautiful all at once. She was a mystery even to herself, and Keira knew only that her path followed that of discovery. That of the scholar which varied so greatly from the blood-spilt trail of her family.

That is why she walks these trails to the Academy, why her eyes behold the stone-paved path, decorated by ruins, covered in a crystal-like blanket of glistening snow. The stones themselves were glossed with a thin layer of ice, and she tread carefully. The wind, icy and frigid, brushed against her, causing long, black waves to dance across her neck. Her stride is peculiarly graceful as she drifted from the well-worn stone path, her hooves shifting the snow as she walked by the ruins.

This is where she finds Elemire. "Hello," her voice is soft and unreadable. She holds no visible motives and shows very little. She is no stereotypical scholar, but as Keira looked upon the rogue, she could guess that her teacher was not, either. "I am," she replies, glittering eyes tracing the unusual movement of the other mare, the way her shoulders roll and her hips loosely sway. And then, beneath her very hooves parts the snow, giving way to perfectly spring-green blossoms. Keira, taken by surprise, takes a step back. She withholds the gasp at her lips, instead lowering her head so that her lips gently brushed the flowers and vines that suddenly sprung all around her.

The scholar speaks again, and Keira, her eyes gleaming with fascination, lifts her head so that she may gaze within the other mare's eyes. "Wind," she finally offers with the slightest of halfsmiles, "It is spontaneous and changeable," she offers, then flicking back an ear, "As am I."

K E I R A