The moon was out that night, full, yellow, and so large one felt like they could grasp it with their teeth. The little ponds caused by melting snow housed a hollow tune carried by the frogs that took shelter in them. The frog’s croaks were accompanied by a whispering wind, carrying white flecks through the air. Distant howls of wolves joined the chorus, and all was calm on the mountain top. A fluttering of cloth softly announced the arrival of the mare that haunted the mountain; some said she was the mountain herself. Pale blue and white, like the snow on the peaks, with jet black hair and illuminating red eyes were the key features of the mare, coupled with the tattered black obi she wore around her waist. Dainty hooves made virtually no noise as she made her way to the edge of a ravine, whose waters were gently lapping the sides. She took her nightly post at the northern edge of the ravine, marked by a rock formation that resembled a man made of snow. She waited there each night, wishing for someone to come along that she could talk to. Mountain life got lonely from time to time.
