Beneath her, her steed heaved but continued at his pace, silver mane flying behind him as if the wind itself, his black flank covered in a thin layer of matting sweat. The dark skies swirled menacingly above; it would soon snow again, she mused.
The bodies of long- and newly-dead reploids lay strewn about the red and white landscape, devoid of life in every sense and reminding her of the cold paintings of hell she'd studied back him.
"An icy hell," she murmured alone. "Perhaps it needs but a spark to melt it."
She rode on, her swords thudding against her back as Dark Star galloped on, toward HQ.