Blossoms in the Coldest Winter
Lady Iridium, unicorn of the noble House Platinum.
I was unmoved by word of your arrival. A unicorn to stay among our caravan? I’ve been forced to grow lean on what little we possess, both in food and wisdom.
But when my master brought you before me, I could not look away.
Your injuries are severe. Lacerations plied so deep that I will have to regularly bandage them on the hour. Bruising so tender that you will be set to a cot for the entirety of our journey. Burns from no harmonious order: instead, the prophetic results of vicious unicorn magic.
We were correct to leave the rest of our tribe in the new Earth, for you have shown that the Windigos will return.
I have sworn an oath, and it extends to even a pony such as you.
I will bring you water and rye, and I swear, I will not let you die.
You have proven to be a talkative sort. It is the most principle ground between us.
You've spoken of the precepts leading to your circumstance, but I cannot call them explanations: you are prone to political altercation; I am inclined to healing. But I listen, and the pleasure goes both ways. Your voice is pure cotton, and my ears are always here.
I will admit that I was salacious in pursuing the temptation to question you. Your age likens to mine, yet you have experienced so much more. I asked of your unicorn heritage, your life in the northern mountains before Earth, and even of the arts you pursued. Poetry is an intriguing affair, and you promised to teach me. Now, despite the kindness of our exchange, I am embarrassed to recall that you asked nothing of me.
Perhaps that is for the best: my master has noticed. His mouth is tied taut, but his eyes tell all. You are a unicorn, but you are a good mare, equivalent to our band’s Venerable Mother.
I see good in you, so I ask again for your word.
I will bring you before them, and I swear, they will see.
Yes, the elders are very impressed with you. Even my master approves.
From your word, we are to continue in the direction of the setting sun. We were unaware that the cold had deepened in the north; our caravan lacks the hearth-warmers to feel out heat.
In time, I hope that this will bring us to the safety and salvation we seek.
In time, I hope that you will get better.
In spite of your short time in my care, the results are promising. Many of your injuries readily reciprocate my efforts. But below your skin, a malignant growth has shown itself. Alone, my treatments meet failure. I have called upon you again for your knowledge, but your answer is one I cannot accept. There is no such ailment that exists beyond the aid of earth pony hooves.
You are my due charge. My master trusted me with you because I am the most proficient in individual care. He aids those who have fallen to frost-over and the rough trail, and I assure him that no wound is missed.
This foul magic will leave you.
I will bring you all the way to the Undiscovered West. I swear.
You will get better.
Once more, you came good on your word.
Poetry is a simple affair, at least in the deconstructed manner which you provided for me to see. Even with my lackluster forbearance, and time with the subject, I can clearly understand how beautiful your work is. It is as if a phoenix calls from within you as you recite and brush your words to the world around you. I cannot help but feel enraptured by every syllable you speak.
Perhaps in time, I will perfect my own poetry. And in the future, I will find the opportunity to come through on my promises of paints and dyes. Think on that in the meantime: I have already concocted a dozen different patterns for you to try. All would provide a delightful alternative to your pure, silvery-white visage.
For now, the cold outside worsens. There will be little time for me to present you for the elders. It is not so much that I fear for your health, but I must put your safety before our wonderful talks.
…Be well, my friend.
I see now that I was wrong.
My master trusted me with you not because of my ability, but because of my experience. Or rather, the lack thereof.
The pale shadow of death hangs over the cot where you rest. It is palpable. But when I sit beside you, you are warm. So very warm that, at times, I can scarcely believe that no other pony feels it. Your mere presence fills the air with beams of light, and hope.
…I must be mistaken.
I’m sorry, Iridium. I know better than to act like this. You must think me a foal.
I will return soon.
It’s you.
You’re the reason.
Are you harming yourself like this?
No… when I stand by you now, you glow like auburn leaves.
Take my hoof.
…You feel that.
Then it is not you, but rather, us.
…I don’t quite understand this either, but it brings us warmth. All of us.
I will stay by your side, Iridium. I will not leave you again.
Today, we reached the west.
And the sun greeted us.
It sits so high. It feels as if the whole world has changed. And it has.
You were resting peacefully.
I tipped your muzzle, and showed you the sunlight.
You smiled, and drifted to dreams.
You did not wake again.
The band gathered outside. You were laid to rest in the glorious sun.
I could not save you, but you saved us.
Lady Iridium.
My friend.
Loss is inevitable. You helped me learn that.
I will be stronger, and more will live in your name.
Thank you.
