The Lost Prince

One cold day, with rays of sun

The snow in heaps like dunes

The wind had howled and storm begun

The clouds got thicker still

All in white, hooves shod in silver

The stag with antlers tall

But mine are larger and more strong

Just as strong as yours

And so they say, and they say again

The minstrels mournfully wail

And now the ice blows over graves

Of lonely stony cairns

Chapter 1: The Wind Moves South

Twilight opened her mouth in a wide jaw cracking yawn. Stretching her legs, she stood up and walked around her beloved library. Spike was there on the ground, legs crossed and reading a comic book. She smiled at her dragon friend. How much had they'd been through together, she thought. Normally she'd have a million tasks for him, but right now, all she wanted to do was relax herself. So she let Spike indulge himself and walked over to the northern ramparts to gaze at the distance Crystal Mountains, now a deep majestic blue, the snow on their peaks a crimson ruby red reflecting the rays of the setting sun. The same light cast a warming glow on the purple stone of her castle and the streaks of golden light tinted the puffy white clouds which dotted the sky.

She heard something and looked down and standing next to her was Spike. He was looking up at her intently and asked "What are you thinking about Twilight?"

"Oh," she sighed "just thinking that there's going to be a storm here soon."

"Really?" He said looking at the beautiful sky above them "everything looks alright to me."

"That's because you've been inside your comic book all day and haven't noticed," she retorted "the birds and grasshoppers have stopped their music early, and everywhere around us is silence."

"That's because you're looking the wrong way if you want noise," Spike countered "Ponyville's on the other side of the castle remember?"

Twilight smiled to herself, always the practical one was Spike. Was it only a few years ago since he'd hatched from his egg? My how he had grown.

"Maybe you're right Spike," she conceded "I just feel that something important is coming our way."

"Well," Spike said looking back towards the throne room "the map hasn't appeared or shown us anything."

He looked back at Twilight "And besides," he continued "we'll be able to handle whatever is thrown at us."

Twilight smiled again at his juvenile confidence and naivety. She remembered when she was like that, confident in her own abilities and confident in that of her friends. But somehow, this felt different. But she decided to put it out of her mind and looked at Spike.

"Come on," she said "let's go see what the other's are up to."

"Now you're talkin'," Spike said enthusiastically and they trotted their way out of the castle.

Far, far away, beyond Twilight's sight of the Crystal Mountains. Far beyond the winter storms caused by the banished King Sombra. Far to the north where ice ruled and the wind howled it's banshee's gale, to a land always wrapped in winter, which had never known the melting of spring. A storm was there. The waves bashed against the rocks ridden with bird droppings and dead fish. The spray hissed and instantly froze as it smashed against the impregnable stone of an ancient fortress. Here stood Shanlo Lonahs, the Hellhound. He was a white wolf, with long white fangs and glowing golden eyes. He was leader of a pack more than two thousand strong and was the alpha male. With his wife, Shima, they made a viscous and cunning pair.  His white hair swayed with the gusts of wind which blew snow, ice, and water mist up at them. In barbaric fervor, he and his mate bayed their defiance to the skies "Aaaaaaaaaaoooooooooooooohhhh!"

Their howls mixed with that of their pack who took up the cry until it echoed like a dirge of doom from the pit of hell. It reverberated off the rocks and mixed with the howling and lashing wind. The slaves and prisoners in the fortress cowered in fright. The ears of little ones were covered by their terrified mothers, while their daughters silently wept beside them. Only one wasn't afraid, but that was only because he couldn't hear them. The white Peryton was already in mid air when the howl began. His world was filled with the blinding snow and the pounding wind. His wings were battered as he tried to stay aloft. On and on he flew, southward, ever southward, towards a land which he knew not where. He was the very reason the wolves were howling triumph. His father, King Wintersong, was murdered when he opened the gates to let the starving pair of Shanlo and Shima into their castle. The Peryton's eyes brimmed with tears as he remembered, and his tears froze to the hair of his mane. Shanlo and Shima had entered only by themselves at the time, tired, bedraggled, and starving. The King wouldn't hear of any opposition to give hospitality to the two wolves, but in a single night, Shanlo and Shima had betrayed their hosts and opened the gates to their pack. In one swift movement they took over the mighty fortress. All those who would not submit to their rule were killed and eaten in front of their family and friends. It was a harsh reminder to those who sought to oppose them. But the Peryton escaped with his life.

The Peryton flew away from his once happy land. Where the aurora blazed in bright green and dark crimson, where it swished and laughed with them as they danced beneath the stars. All the sky was covered in a dark grey mass, below him, only the mountainous waves of the ocean were there. Suddenly, he saw land, speeding towards it with the last of his strength, he gave up the moment he saw that there were trees beneath him. He crashed to the foliage and tumbled among the branches and the leaves, getting bruises and cuts along his entire body, his white antlers somehow didn't manage to get tangled before he slammed into the ground. He struggled to get up, but the wind and snow still howled through the trees and soon the blackness of exhaustion gripped him, and he remembered nothing more.