It fell, slowly, swirling and drifting to the earth, a single snowflake floating from the dark midnight sky. The trees stood, there great limbs bear in the frozen air, deathly pale in the silver moonlight which illuminated the scene. Blankets of icing sugar snow lay in great drifts at the trees roots. A stream frozen solid wound through the forest, like a silver ribbon, reflecting the moonlight. There was silence, not a breath of wind, there was no birds singing there songs, they had all flown south to the warm African sun, escaping the ice that now covered anything in his grip. Nothing moved, it was like time was frozen, the scene, a snapshot in a photo album.
Crack, a twig snapped, the spell broken as a great horse came into view, its fur as black as jet shone in the moonlight, upon the horse's back was a figure, a great cloak round her shoulders to keep out the frigid air. Her face was in shadows, the cloaks' fur lined hood pulled up, but she rode quickly in silence, she had no fear as she thundered on through the trees, ducking and dodging the branches of the great trees reaching out towards her. She pulled her horse to a walk when she came to the stream; she urged her horse forward over the slippy ice. Its great hoof came down slowly, like the foot of a ballerina; sure of its footing it made its way across, fear shone in his dark eyes. But they were on the far bank now, safe. They broke into a gallop and soon both horse and rider where gone. The only evidence that they had ever been were the hoof prints in the snow. The sky had clouded over now and the snow was falling in earnest, in a few hours even the hoof prints would be gone.