A few hours passed, then the high ground filled up - Veilhorns showing up one after another to see what’d happen. You could feel it in the air, a kind of shared tension mixed with the deep smell of old rituals buried in soil. Morgana lingered by the crowd’s edge, her vivid blue cherry tabby fur clashing sharply with the dull winter scene around. Being a Fire Element mare, the creeping frost magic hit her hard, like needles under skin. She wrapped her wings tight - not from chill, but from wonder so strong it broke through her usual quietness. Four big stags got carved and brought to life. Not statues anymore - they throbbed with icy light from within. Glowing orbs of pale blue filled their eyes. As the old Frostmages finished their last verse, a ripple of glowing blue-green light spread across the flat land. Under the stags’ hooves, the earth became smooth frost in a flash. A loud crack echoed, like countless windows smashing at once - the big deer, the one Jasper’d helped bring down, suddenly moved. It stamped on the frozen ground, kicking up a cloud of icy dust. Morgana stared, caught in the moment. Their strength hit her hard - like thunder without sound. Not made of bone or blood, still they pulsed with energy beyond living animals. When the next one tossed its antlers, sharp shards of frost broke loose, drifting down like glitter that tingled on skin. The stags carried winter's tough side - the kind that clears everything out just so fresh growth can begin. Morgana, someone whose magic always wanted to devour and flare up, got what their wild energy meant. Not close enough to reach them, since her warmth would mess it up, yet still able to stand by - quiet, careful, seeing something huge unfold. One after another, the Stags dipped their strong necks, let out a hushed roar that blended with the gusts, yet suddenly dashed forward. They flashed like moving blue fire across the dull terrain, trailing whirls of powdered snow plus sparkling frost behind. Winter had gripped Veilheim for good. Morgana stayed put till the final flash of blue faded beyond the far-off icy peaks, a soft hush of awe creeping into her chest. Though no words came, something deep inside just knew - this moment mattered more than most. The huge wave of blue-green energy faded, making the flat land seem oddly bare - like a giant church right after an intense prayer ended. Air that once buzzed with force now felt sharp, almost brittle. Veilhorn twitched back to life, shaking off the daze from the spell’s release. What was once shared tension turned into quiet sounds: feet shifting on fresh frost. For Morgana, not seeing the stags hit just as hard as if they were standing there. She sucked in a sharp breath, cold biting at her windpipe. Instead of being crushed under waves of frost magic, her fire power started waking up again. Warmth flickered near her ribcage - like embers stirring beneath ash. The steam from her mouth burst out fast and white - not loud, but clear proof she hadn’t been snuffed out by this frozen world. She tossed off the glittering frost clinging to her vivid blue mane and tail. That powder seemed way too light - like air - but still brought a faint, tingling numbness wherever it landed. Seeing those stags wasn't merely tradition each year; it proved how harsh yet stunning everything stayed in line. Warmth poured through her, softening sharp borders, acting like fire clearing space once cold loosened its grip. Hers mattered just as much, though less flashy compared to Frostmages' bold displays. The people moved downhill, making their way to safer spots in the lowlands where homes stood year-round. Morgana stepped after them, choosing each step slow on a trail that was free of debris. Because she had tasks ahead - minding the magic fires below, keeping their heat just right so folks survived but ice didn’t melt by mistake. When she shifted, a tiny group of Veilhorn came into view by the icy ring. Around them stood the Elder Frostmages, clearly worn out, fur covered in that life-leeching ice - the kind that powered the huge figures earlier. Yet Jasper, the tough equine who’d powered the core of the spell, stood apart. Not near any helpers. He sagged low, propped up against a rock glazed with frost. Leftover magic from freezing energy hung close - thin, off-putting. His typical strong tone looked faded. Shaking - not just chilly jitters, yet violent quivers running through his bones, showing raw force pushed way too far. Morgana stopped, her hoof mid-air over the frozen trail. Usually, she’d look away, stay distant - especially from someone strong like Jasper. Yet seeing him struggle with the biting, spreading chill lit something inside her. Not mere shaking - he was nearly overtaken by the force they’d both set free. Hesitancy clashed against gut feeling. ‘Leave him alone - no need to interrupt.’ ‘He matters right now. Keep your voice down.’ He’s got to get warm - fast. Instinct took over. Out of nowhere, Morgana pulled together her inner fire. No open flames - she wasn’t after drama or attention. Instead, she used the kind of warmth she’d save for warming homes in winter - steady, quiet, strong beneath the surface. Moving ahead, she stepped forward, her vivid blue coat catching eyes from the small crowd still hanging around. "Sorry," she whispered - soft, almost lost in the gusts - but Jasper felt it. Tired as he was, his body caught every shift. Slowly, he raised his head, vision blurred. “Mare,” he said hoarsely, giving a quick nod instead. “The rime dust… it sticks," Morgana muttered, staying back roughly three feet - the safe zone from her steady warmth. Her wing tips flared a little, not to fly, yet enough to push out soft heat. He grimaced, acknowledging the painful truth. "It’s deeper this year. I worked too close to the core." Morgana stayed quiet, no words or warnings. She focused instead, nudging warmth forward bit by bit, warming the space that lay between them. Not strong enough to dissolve the whole frozen stretch, yet strong enough to crack the icy spell wrapped around his body. One tiny spot on his coat - right above his chest - heated up slowly, sending off faint wisps as the frost vanished into thin air. Jasper blinked; sharpness crept back into his gaze. As soon as it happened, he noticed - the pressure faded, almost like something cold and clenched near his heart just broke loose. His shaky knees eased up afterward. “Morgana, right?" he said, spotting those one-of-a-kind stripes, sensing that calm strength. She gave a quick nod, cheeks turning pink, hoping the snow would swallow her up right then. “Yep” He gave her a slow, genuine smile, a gesture of profound gratitude that overcame the exhaustion etched on his face. "Thank you. That… that was necessary. A fire like yours is a good thing to remember, even when the gods demand ice." The timid horse sensed a glow inside, unrelated to her usual magic. Instead of forcing control, she’d chosen care - fixing what was broken; someone who designed the rite noticed. All that weight from the stags breaking free now seemed lighter, almost welcoming. “Stay safe, Jasper,” she said quietly, nodding down. Jasper returned the nod, already standing straighter. "You as well, Morgana. And keep that fire burning." Taking a sharp turn to hide her reddening face, Morgana started walking down the rocky slope. Winter had locked everything in ice, harsh and unyielding - yet inside, she held onto a soft certainty. That inner fire wasn't out of place here; it belonged, like a secret spark the snow needed. She was what kept things from freezing solid, a faint glow in all that pale stillness. Because of this moment, because she’d stepped forward despite fear, even someone quiet could shift the cold’s grip.