Spindle: Winter is hard to understand for a pony. It is both uplifting and depressing, soft and sharp; it is the end of harvest and beginning of reflection. It impedes the journey of those going by hoof or wing, yet speeds up those who are prepared to glide.
The snow crystals were dense and large enough to stay solid on the ground; they coalesced in lucky spots to form patches of this polycrystalline ice. Unlike what I enjoyed in Pyeongchang, if any appreciable pressure was applied the snow would yield and melt, leaving hoofprints and other holes.
Parcly: Roofs, carriages and other exposed items were similarly overlaid with this white beauty. The few crystals that struck my eye flared brighter than a supernova, intensifying the visage. Far above there appeared to be no ceiling, a light grey field casting no shadows. There I was, petrified by thousands of white dots, seeking meaning in them. The date was 3 December - a smile was there on my cheeks.
“Happy birthday, Twilight.”
Spindle: Then again, the coldness was hitting her nerves hard so she had the classic Korean dish of bibimbap for lunch. It was the last full day of her trip and she had already walked the ends of this country - high, low, left, right, up, down - but there was still one more place: the old, gold palace of Gyeongbokgung whose back gate she had found previously.
Parcly: These grounds were the summit of my crazy trek across four cities over fourteen days, decreasing temperatures, multiple modes of transportation, foods of all flavours and unbelievable practices. They embodied the old ready to embrace the new, the union of pony and nature. I strolled across the palace gardens, half-encrusted by snow… and wept.
Spindle: Nothing was left to do, so Parcly returned to her stay early to pack up and write messages to her contacts, in particular Luna. The crescent moon was shining above, radiating through me onto the paper, thence into the heart.
(P.S. Twilight’s cutie mark is a veiled reference to Kevinsano’s birthday)