Knee deep in the powder white, the beasts snort; their hot breaths puffing from their nostrils like a dragons. Anticipation and angst is thick in the cold air, nipping at their rider's noses. They plough headlong in to the bleached turf, breathing down each other's necks to obtain the treasure and to pelt in the back of the net, like a snowball. The beasts grunt and even roar as they clash in to each other. Their rider's eyes glare coldly only for one thing. This game is trying. This game is treacherous. This game is daring. And the riders upon their steeds love it.
Elsa Brellamine packed her lungs with the icy air before exhaling, nearly letting a cry of glee escape with it. She marched across the muffled grass, relishing the crisp frost crunching under her black boots, towards the fancy palace of a stable. When she stepped inside, the musky smell of a ranch smothered Elsa's face, warming her pink cheeks. Immediately, she set to work, receiving the gear necessary and hauling it out the back. Her cerulean eyes scanned the vast expanse of snow before she brought her fingers to her rich lips and whistled shrilly. Elsa heard him way before she saw him, but when she did, her breath was stolen and her heart pounded like always.
Far before her (you could barely see it unless you were looking for it) galloped a celestial white horse, his colossal hooves thundered through the snow, kicking it up behind him like a veil and his wildly long mane and tail sailed beside him like wings. His coal black eyes stared endlessly into the depths of his surroundings. It was truly a sight to behold.
Almost too soon, he was towering above her, the very top of her head barely reached his withers, but he bowed down to her height like an equal and caressed her fair face with his sooty muzzle. "Svelte…" Elsa barely breathed his name and the beast responded with a warm huff. When she first heard his name, she thought that she probably would not have named him that herself, especially as it meant the total opposite to his structure. However, his breeder christened the colt with Svelte Edge, and she grew fond of the name, regardless of the irony.
As she cupped his muzzle in her slender hands, Elsa took the rest of his regal form in. His enormous neck arched beautifully with a thick mane that cascaded down which reminded her of the frozen Niagara Falls. His broad, muscular back seemed to ripple on endlessly like a blanket of snow; Elsa could comfortably lay her back across him. His long legs rooted to the floor like bright columns that belonged and ended in a mass of feather. He finished in a tail so soft and huge like his mane, you wouldn't know the difference from a blanket.
"Let's fly," he seemed to speak to her, and in minutes, Elsa was upon him, geared up and skipping on the spot. Though he never pulled at her, Svelte was the extremely spirited kind, always dancing on the spot when anticipating action. Elsa turned him to a lonely path and barely had to lean forward before the horse kicked off like a bird in flight and bolted down the lane.
Elsa's mount was one of the fastest and strongest of his kind. Bred for the sport Elsa felt she lived for. As they rocketed onwards, thoughts of the upcoming school term flew through her mind as fast as the wind passed surrounding. She could barely contain her excitement.
Soon, she thought, feeling Svelte's body ripple beneath her, the season will start, and Snow Polo will begin.