Ice and a Lesson

Horizon stood at the edge of a large icy cliff, overlooking the calm arctic waters. Chunks of drifting ice floated by below him, looking deceptively small from the quirlicorn stallion's lofty perspective. Much like many things in life, Horizon knew only a small sliver of the icebergs below were visible to him—the unperceived portions leagues larger—the rest of their mass concealed beneath the glassy surface of the sea.

The stallion heaved a sigh, an action which sent his breath swirling over the cliff in a misty cloud. He pawed at the ice below expectantly. Weren’t there usually lights in the sky this time of year, this far North? He lowered himself down, dangling his front hooves over the edge of the shelf. The distance he had traveled to be here was not insubstantial; perhaps some part of him hoped that with the nearing of the solstice he could catch a glimpse the dancing lights for himself. Ah well, he thought. Nothing to be done about it, and I can’t rightly sit here and wait forever; I'll freeze, or catch a cold.

Despite his thoughts to the contrary, the starry quirl did sit and wait a while longer, hoping maybe something might happen... But noting of note transpired, save a few penguins and seals surfacing to rest on the floating ice below. With a flick of his ears and an indignant swish of his tail, Horizon rose and started back the way he had came.

- ❄ -

It was not long before the starry stallion found himself wandering quite aimlessly. A strange and uncomfortable feeling was stirring in the pit of his stomach, one that he could not place. It felt empty, wanting; not unlike being hungry, though his stomach was full. Instead of sitting in his gut—as hunger did—it sat deep in his chest below his sternum and hung there, clinging to him like a weight. Was is disappointment? It had started right about when he gave up on the Aurora, but it was hard to say.

Lost in thought, Horizon had traveled much farther away from the icy ocean cliff than he realized. The ground beneath his hooves had grown less precarious, and while it was much too cold here this time of year for anything to grow there were a few scant skeletons of trees and small bushes that had rather brazenly staked their claim in the cracks between the ice. They now lay dormant and shriveled, waiting for the snow to melt before they could flourish again. Horizon knew, though, it showed no sign of letting up soon and the vegetation would be slumbering in wait for spring for many weeks yet to come.

It wasn’t until he was already ankle deep in snow that the purple equine had realized where he was. He took a moment to look around, appreciating how the light powder sparkled and reflected the colors of the sky. True, there were no Northern lights, but with little other light around to disturb them, the stars were quite beautiful as well. He cracked a small smile. Horizon had a special affinity for the night sky, given that he and the rest of his herd had all been blessed with coats dappled with stars. He vaguely recalled his mother telling him stories about how their ancestors had worshipped the heavens. In return, she had said, they reached down and blessed the herd with their galactic coats; the ones he and his kin still carried today. These days in his adult age he found the stories dubious at best, but somewhere deep down his inner child hoped it was true and that someday the sky itself might reach down and embrace him or bless him with some sacred, forgotten magic. He guessed some fantasies foals never grew out of, even into adulthood.

Distracted as he was with the sky, Horizon took a step forward, one he expected to be on level ground (spoiler alert: it was not). Instead, he plunged forward farther than expected with a curt and rather embarrassing squeal, scrambling to collect himself. However the snow underfoot was fluffy and light, causing him to slide down a small hill before coming to a stop several quirl-lengths away, rump down in the snow. No worse for wear and only his pride bruised, Horizon snapped his head to the left and right in a curt attempt to survey his surroundings (and get an idea of who, if anyone, might have seen his less than graceful stumble). Thankfully, he still appeared to be alone.

The snow here was deeper, around knee height, but as light and fluffy as a dream. The stallion also quickly realized it was fresh—not a single footprint to be had—with the exception of course of his large butt-shaped skid mark down the hill. He nickered playfully. Oh yeah. It’s happening.

The deep violet quirlicorn got to his feet, a childlike spring in his step and snorted, pawing at the ground in preparation. He bowed his head, clenched his muscles, and ran forward with a reckless abandon. There was nothing quite like being the first one to walk through deep snow, and the stallion was soaking up every moment of it as the powder flew around him. He grew tired rather quickly, the snow creating a considerable amount of drag on his limbs. Eventually running became too much work, so Horizon flopped down in the snow, rolling about through the fluffy powder. He hadn’t had this much fun since he was a kid, it was really a wonder why adults never allowed themselves to act like this. If anyone were around he would never have considered it proper for a stoic stallion such as himself, and would probably have every mare in a hundred mile radius making fun of him. But it was fun! Adulthood was so backwards.

The snow melted around the quasar stallion rather quickly now that most of his body was in contact with it, doubly so after having worked up a sweat from exerting himself. Ultimately the logical side of his brain kicked back in, but by then his purple coat had been saturated with melting snow, turning it from a deep purple color to almost black. Places along his back were starting to freeze again, dotted with a light frost.

Ah… Whoops. He thought. No matter. The difference between adults and foals is that the former can take care of themselves, and so Horizon had to do just that. Conveniently, it did not take but a few steps before he was again at the edge of a small hill and wouldn’t you know it, there was another quirlicorn at the base.

- ❄ -

Horizon slid down the incline, this time in a much more intentional manner, landing just shy of the other quirl. He dipped his head in greeting as the other unicorn raised theirs, their mouth full of scraggly greens (if you could even call them that, for the natural green color was more of a wilted brown) and a look of slight surprise on their face.

“Oh! Horizon?” They blinked, finishing the last of the greens.

Horizon dusted himself off, more of a habit than anything considering the snow just clung to his damp coat. When he looked up, he furled his brow.

“Mintaka? Is that you?” He exclaimed, a bit surprised. He looked the other quirl over. Sure enough: purple coat, white appaloosa blanket, prismatic mane and tail that always reminded him of the sky at dusk. And of course, they were covered in stars from head to tail tip.

“Yes!” The other quirlicorn smiled. “It’s nice to see you all the way out here, it’s been years.”

Horizon nodded in agreement. It certainly had. He didn’t think he had seen Mintaka since they were foals. Some rather uncomfortable memories crossed through his mind—the small, rich purple foal uncomfortable, struggling to fit in—the older adults, not really quite sure what to do with the anomaly of a child that had been born into the family. He shook the memories from his mind, trying his best to return his attention to the conversation at hand.

“It has,” he agreed, not really sure what else to say to them. “Your uh, well your mane has grown in… quite impressively!” he added, gesturing with a raised hoof. “You look good.”

Mintaka smiled, taking the rather awkward compliment with grace. “Thanks, you’re much bigger than I remember,” they said with a chuckle, but their demeanor shifted rather quickly once they realized how their words might be interpreted by the other quirl.

“I—I mean, you’re fully grown now, not…” They snorted, flicking their ears back, nostrils flaring momentarily. Their ears flicked back to attention quickly however, looking Horizon over with concern.

“You look rather cold. Here, follow me.” Mintaka added.

Horizon was in no place to object, for in that moment he realized he was shivering.

“Oh yes, sure.” He didn’t feel the need to explain the reasoning behind his current predicament, for fear that Mintaka might judge him. Who knew, though? He hadn’t seen them since they were kids, he was in no place to judge their character. Just like that, the strange, heavy feeling was back in his chest.

Ah, there. That’s what it was. Loneliness. He thought to himself, though he didn’t have much time to dwell on it before Mintaka stopped, collecting a few scrappy pieces of lumber from the tundra around them. In mere moments, the makings of a fire were prepared, and Mintaka knelt near the bundle of wood, inhaling a lungful of air which they blew across the logs. Suddenly, an ethereal flame licked across the timber, catching and igniting all the pieces at once. The sight set Horizon’s eyes wide.

“Woah, how’d you do that??” He asked, mouth agape.

Mintaka shrugged, looking a little put on the spot. “Oh I don’t know, I guess it just comes naturally. I’ve been able to do it ever since I was a foal, though mom and dad discouraged it around the others. I guess that’s why I left, conjuring fireballs and lightning bolts uncontrollably wasn’t the safest thing for everyone else involved.”

The fire grew to a comfortable size more quickly than any he had witnessed, and with a matter of minutes, Horizon was warm again, though still damp.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He hung his head a bit. “Now that I think of it, I guess I never really thought about why you left. I thought maybe the other foals were teasing you or something.” He flattened his ears, feeling bad for not taking more interest in his sibling.

A moment of awkward silence hung in the air so thick, Horizon thought maybe he could cut it with a knife.

“Ah,--“ both horses attempted to start up the conversation again, accidentally speaking at the same time and then both stopping, giving the other the chance to say something first, instead causing more awkward silence, which Mintaka was the first to finally break.

“So… What have you been up to since leaving the herd?” They asked.

Horizon tossed his head to the side, as if the action might deflect the point of conversation he would rather not have but alas, it was only he, his sibling, and the fire, and the fire wasn’t about to jump in with any riveting conversation anytime soon.

“Oh, you know… Not much, I guess.” He looked down at the ground. “I suppose I’ve mostly been traveling—“ he searched for a more exciting word. “—exploring, to try and find some land of my own. I might settle in somewhere around here, I kind of like the snow.”

Mintaka nodded. “It is.”

Another lull fell between the estranged siblings before Mintaka added, “Well you’d better be careful, I hate to break it to you but snow is cold and wet, and if you want to keep yourself from freezing it might behoove you to try and learn a little fire magic, too.”

Horizon nodded, he knew the prismatic quirl was right. “I suppose that’s probably true.”

His coat was dry now, thanks to having scooched his way as close as was equinely possible to the fire without singing his fur, but now it was starting to get uncomfortably warm, so he shimmied back a bit.

“What about you, have you been anywhere you particularly enjoy in your travels? Assuming you’ve traveled, that is.”

Mintaka nodded. “Oh yeah, I’ve been all over. I guess if I had to pick a place, I like the desert. It’s really hot during the day of course, but my magic comes more naturally to me there, and the sky is really beautiful at night.”

Horizon smiled. “I’ve not been to the desert yet, but it sounds lovely. Speaking of the sky, I was hoping to catch the aurora tonight, but it looks like it’s a no-show.”

“Ah, yeah. That’s a shame. It’s really beautiful this time of year.” Mintaka mused.

Horizon looked back toward the sky. “When we were foals, the herd used to come up here for the solstice, do you remember?”

Mintaka tipped their head, thinking. “No, I don’t recall.” They looked kind of sad, sulking a bit.

“Ah,” continued Horizon. “That’s a shame. I thought for sure you made the trek with us at least once. We’d watch the lights, if there were any, and then the adults would make snowballs for the foals, and we’d have snowball fights. The less… aggressive of the bunch, I guess, would push the snowballs around in the fresh stuff until they were large enough to make snow-horses out of.” He settled into the nostalgic memory, heaving a contented sigh. Mintaka however, did not appear as pleased. They looked away from the fire, and down at the ground, pawing at the small bits of grass poking through the ice.

“But hey, you know what? It’s the solstice now, or near enough to it. I don’t care how old we are, do you wanna have a snowball fight?”

Mintaka perked up a little, surprised that their older, somewhat aloof brother would suggest such a thing. A spark of mischief twinkled in their eye. “Really?” they asked.

“Sure, why not. It’ll be just like old times.”

Mintaka stood, their tail swishing excitedly. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you since you don’t know any magic,” they half-taunted.

Horizon smiled, the emptiness in his chest melting away ever so slightly. He sized Mintaka up. They really had grown a lot since he had last seen them. Markings aside, they were almost completely unrecognizable; everything down to the way they held themself had changed, but the dark purple stallion saw a brief flicker of the foal that was still no doubt inside their sibling as they dipped into an excited play-bow.

“Well come on, let’s go old man, moving a little slow in your old age?” Mintaka jeered.

“Oooohhhh, you are so going to regret that,” he shot back, pawing at a large clump of snow, packing it down into a small vessel and kicking it at the other quirl. The cluster hit his adversary square in the shoulder, eliciting a joyful whinny from Mintaka.

“Those are fighting words,” they retorted with a giggle, forming a perfectly spherical ball of snow that they chucked back at Horizon. It whizzed over his shoulder, barely nicking the tip of his tail.

The two went on like this for what seemed like hours, laughing and prancing through the snow until the area around them was a complete mess of torn up grass, clumps of displaced snow, and wayward, splattered snowballs.

“All right, all right, I concede,” huffed Horizon. “I can’t keep up with your dainty little hooves over there. Maybe you were right, maybe I did get fat,” he chuckled.

Mintaka bounded over and rested beside him in the snow. “Nah,” they responded, “I might be smaller than you but now I know who to call if I need something really big moved.”

“And I know who to call if I need a fire lit,” he agreed.

For the first time all evening, Horizon felt ‘full’. He had gotten some much-needed bonding time with one of his siblings, and to boot, he hadn’t spent the night alone wallowing in disappointment about the Aurora. While this isn’t the way he had really expected the night to go, but he was nonetheless very happy with the result.

“Thanks for spending some time with me, Mintaka.” Horizon said, in a rare moment of candidness.

Mintaka looked over at him, a little surprised that their aloof older brother was being so direct. They blinked and looked back at the sky.

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Thanks for the company,” they responded.

Horizon stared at Mintaka again for a second, for some reason thinking of the icebergs he had seen earlier that night. He figured, in some ways, people were kind of like them, too. Until you really get to know someone, you’re only seeing the ice above the surface, but people are so much more than what they may seem at first.

“We sh… shoooould hang out m-more,” he added.

Mintaka nodded in agreement, but then their gaze fell back on their brother and their expression quickly changed into an incredulous frown. The purple Quirlicorn sat up with a snort, pointing an accusatory hoof in Horizon’s direction.

“Horizon… You’re shivering again. We should get back to the fire.”

“Oh, y-yeah. Oops. Y-you’re r-right. I really have t-to get b-better about t-that, huh…”

Mintaka raised a worried eyebrow for their elder sibling and shook their head.

When would he learn?