Medekhgui Gertee Baikhgüi

The moonlight glinted lazily upon the clouds, refracting through the dense water droplets and creating a blanket of light that shined back up to the stars. The surface of the clouds appeared tranquil, still, but the underside had been whipped into a frenzy by foreign winds. Little light penetrated the darkening veil, leaving the falling sleet to meet the earth in the blackness of a moonless night.

The windswept across the broad flatlands that lay captured between formidable mountain ranges. A storm, chased inland by the wild winds of the eastern sea, raged against its rocky constraints. The howls of the flurry haunted the steppe, emitting a mournful call in the starless night. The snow whipped the landscape into its own shape, leaving soft peaks of power and thick snowdrifts over rugged hills. The rare tree became nothing but a mound of snow, left lifeless by the arctic atmosphere. The activity that once bloomed across the land, the migration of herds and hunters, the travel of traders, the march of soldiers, was subdued by the harsh climate and the hostile sleet storms brought by the long-lasting winter.

A lone pony galloped across the snowy steppe, her ears pushed back and neck arched against the biting cold. The mare’s sooty, dappled coat clashed against the near blinding light reflected off the blanketed ground. Her tail and thick mane were thrown by the storm, snapping wildly as she forged onward. The dark beads and round bells woven into disheveled braids cracked and rattled upon the mare in the verrucous wind. Her small hooves left a distinct pattern in the otherwise unblemished snow, presenting her path for all those who may wish to follow.

A string of dark elm wood beads hung around her neck, small brass bells rang and the sweet sound echoed within the closing walls of wind. Each of the beads was inscribed with an ornate rune, ten of which emitted a silvery glow upon the glittering snow. The soft chimes sounded in time with the mare's strides as she loped across the flat steppe. The bells developed a steady rhythm despite the battering of the enclosing storm.

Upon her broad back perched a small figure, hunched over the mare's withers, who skillfully rose and fell with the mare's gait. She rode with the confidence of a rider that knows their horse like a friend. A shock of cold silver hair lashed in the wind as the rider cut through the winter gale. Her leather armor was stained a dark color and the sparse metal plating had been heat-treated into a deep blue color, causing her form to clash defiantly against the white backdrop and the slowly lightening sky above.

Medekhgui gently tapped her heels against her mount's firm rib cage, urging her onward into the wintery void that stretched before them. As they drove deeper into the storm, the cold penetrated the thick furs she wore, leaching into her very bones and chilling her blood. Her stomach convulsed, sending deep hunger pains throughout her torso. She knew her mount would soon face similar issues, though the biting cold would be driven away by her large heart, tirelessly pumping warm blood to the active muscles in her stout legs. As the wind grew stronger, Medekhgui flattened herself over the mare's neck in an attempt to minimize the battering of the intensifying storm upon her already frozen and aching body.

Frozen fingers wound their way into the flapping mane as the frayed leather reins were passed into Medekhgui’s left hand, the hand clutching the mane to ensure a stable balance. The mare continued her straight path, unbothered by the shifts of her rider's weight. The cold grew ever more aggressive, weakening the girl as she was assailed by the frigid wind and sleet. Medekhgui leaned back in her saddle, exposing more of her body to the winter, in order to reach the pack tied to the back of the saddle, balancing on the pony's bobbing croup. She withdrew a small oblong bundle wrapped in a thin strip of aged yellowing linen. With a stiff flick of her wrist, the linen began to unwind, revealing a smooth sheath of hammered steel. Her cold-numbed fingers struggled to grip the pommel and the reins fell from her left hand, her arm retracting closer to her body, desperate for warmth.

The pristine blade shone in the white expanse of the sleet-hammered landscape. The moonlight danced across the edges of the dagger as it was carefully maneuvered off to the side of the mare’s muscular neck. “Thank you, Sar Törsön,” the rider mumbled as she leaned forward, lowering her face to where the blade was poised. Medekhgui brought the blade to the mare's neck and began to carve through the thick skin with deft fingers, even in her semi-frozen state. The dagger met tough resistance before it slipped through the hide, creating a shallow gash parallel to the horse’s mane. Bright blood immediately welled, spilling out of the lacerations and flowing down Sar's broad neck. The first drop of the newly spilled blood splattered on the centermost bead that adorned the mare's neck, the rest falling and staining the snow. Each crimson drop bounced and shuddered before becoming absorbed into the faintly illuminated snow. in response to the impact of the blood, the bead upon Sar's neck began to glow brighter, illuminating the snow before her hooves. Medekhgui brought her lips to the cut and drank deeply, the warm liquid flowing down her throat and sending vital heat to her frostbitten limbs. The blood of Sar sloshed into her stomach, providing the illusion of sustenance as she rode into the eye of the storm.

The wind formed a swirling barrier around the galloping mare as the storm and pony traveled together. She ran on, unfazed by the change in the storm, nor by the bleeding wound that dyed the snow underfoot a tell-tale red. The mare required little prompting from her rider, so the rider offered little direction, trusting the pony to guide her through the storm and into the safety and shelter of a nearby valley or basin. The mare shook her head as she traversed the eye of the surrounding storm, sending bright blood splashing through the air, the hot liquid bouncing upon the frigid snow and steaming gently. The mare continued diligently towards the vague outline of a group of gers emerging in the distance of the storm. High in the sky, above the camp, a star shone brightly through the clouds. The soft chime of brass bells cut clearly through the night.