>Your bedroom is cold with the first of winter's breath.
>Weak morning light breaks in feebly through your window, having been transformed by the clouds above into a muddled grayish glow.
>Extending out a hand you feel the soft fur of your companion under the sheets, her body radiating warmth, rising and falling with each subtle breath.
>You lean down and give her cheek a kiss before carefully sliding out of bed and heading into the kitchen.
>When you arrive in the equally cold kitchen you catch a glimpse of the beginnings of a snowfall.
>Little, white, nondescript things drop from the sky in at a steady pace.
>Their paths are diverted to the left ever so slightly by the wind.
>As you observe them you're taken aback by the odd suspicion that they're repeating in some sort of pattern, they seem oddly electric.
>Timed almost, set to repeat the same pattern until someone motions for them to halt.
>That's impossible though.
>As you prepare a small breakfast consisting of pastries and a warm drink for both you and her you're overtaken by the urge to go for a walk.
>Not by yourself of course, what's the point of walking alone?
>Steadily you traverse back to the bedroom, surprised to find her curious face looking up at you lazily from her pillow.
>She croaks a hello, and you return with a "good morning".
>You inquire as to her current state, and if she was up for a walk to see the freshly falling snow.
>Upon hearing mention of the precipitation she hops out of bed with new vigor.
>It brings you no small amount of joy to see her happy and excited, even if it was over something some consider trivial.
>She finds a suitable scarf, has a little something to drink, and is waiting by the door for you in an amazingly short amount of time.
>With giddy impatience she waits at the door, tapping her hooves on the ground, already imagining the wet soft slosh of the snow.
 
>You slide into your coat, put on your boots and grab the keys, opening the door for her and locking it behind you.
>When you turn around to say something to her she's already across the street, looking up at the falling snow and taking a few steps into the small banks of the sky's gift that have collected on the road.
>With a grin plastered on your cold face you walk over to her, running a hand through her mane, which has collected a few flakes of the icy snow.
>For a moment she looks up at you with a bashful smile, making a soft "Hmm."
>She trots along side you, sticking close to you and adding her warmth to yours.
>Once in awhile she'll brush against your leg, or point out something of interest but for the most part the two of you walk.
>First down main street, then down the left toward Sugar Cube Corner.
>For what's surely the dozenth time, she does it every time there is any weather really, she asks how you feel about the snow.
>You answer neutrally, for you real didn't care either way.
>The snow isn't the important part, is it?
>Both of you agree that it's time to make the return trip, and turn back, both anticipating sharing a breakfast together.
>At one point in your journey back, she dances around you, taking in the frozen air and exhaling puffs of smoke as a small, delicate dragon would.
>She looks so at peace with everything, experiencing enjoyment without a care in the world.
>And you shared in that blissful moment of simplicity and cold, with her and the sky and nothing else.
 
>A simple thought crosses your mind for a fleeting moment and then vanishes, taking with it the snow, and the street and the rosy streetlamp in the distance too.
>You rub your tired eyes and repeat that thought to yourself, out loud this time, speaking to the softly buzzing and glowing electric monitor.
"She is wonderful."
>The dark room gives you no answer, nor does the slowly falling snow on your monitor, repeatedly touching down on a ground you can't see until you disturb the mouse or keyboard.
>You spend the remainder of the night in its haunting glow, ruminating on the possibilities you doubt would ever be made possible.