It was silent, aside from both the sounds of the forest, and the sound of galloping hooves. The moon, although both large and bright, could barely penetrate through the branches. The darkness was an all-encompassing cloak, only being shattered by one lone lantern held by one lone queen.
Her mount was running as fast as it could, spurred on by her digging heels. Snow was falling harshly all around her, in huge wet clumps, making vision near-impossible. And, as if nature was purposefully battling against her, it was frigid; the air was like burning knives against her lungs.
She was crying, her tears freezing to her eyelashes and cheeks, leaving an icy trail down her visage. And although her people were searching far and wide for their queen, she was going where she would never be bothered again.