3 - Cold Hope

AN: use dark mode. Please.

They move with more care, crawling towards the howling wind. This protrusion, a horn? They don't understand what this could mean yet. As they near the source of the howl, its source is above them. They try to stand, to reach for it, and their hoof brushes against something. Solid, yet frail, as a layer of cold material rains down upon them.

There's also the whiteness, a wave of pure light that pains their eyes, forcing them to shut them and pull back. They try to shake off the material, its cold worming their way into their body, collapsing to the ground once more. But they stood for longer this time, progress. This piercing and sudden assault on their eyes forces them to reel, but slowly they try to reopen. It's dark, barely light, but there's vision.

They can see the glistening white-cyan material that fell on them. They can see the shaft of light from the ceiling, a hole to the surface. Snow, or ice? They're unsure, but they try to crawl closer, to look up. Yet nothing's visible. Nothing but a moving fog, a hurricane of black and gray, nothing that helps them. But it's hope.  

They look around, and spot their surroundings. Rocks. Dark, yet smooth, corridors: a constructed environment. The water wasn't coming from here, though, but back into the darkness. It must be coming from the surface, so they continue following it. But they stop after only a short distance, looking back at the light, over their feathers. They look down at themselves.

Feathers? Their thoughts are conflicted. They look like feathers, but why would there be feathers? They try to poke at them with a hoof, and feel themselves get poked; their own feathers, not… some kind of covering. The feathered creature crawls back towards the light, planning to use it to look at themselves. There's not enough water to form a puddle, to reflect, but they can still see what they can see.

In the darkness it's difficult to make out colors, but they do see a form. Feathers, hooves… a frail body, covered in fur. A tail made of long strands. They shiver from the cold, and crawl away from the light, drinking more of the water. The rock makes it bearable, but not near the light. The light is cold, despite being hope.

Instead, they return to the darkness, following the water, for it must be coming from the surface. It's gotten cleaner, fresher. No bitterness to it, no mold.