Mestra Amymone crept through the cottage. She suspected that Magister had fallen asleep as he often did in the early afternoon. These times were especially boring for her, as she didn’t get sleepy until nighttime. Though he had warned her to not go outside alone, she had taken to doing just that on those long afternoons. It was more out of an innocent foolishness than a tendency to rebelliousness.
On these excursions in the middle of the bright winter days, she would practice the few words that she knew, repeating them over and over to the butterflies that were her constant companions. She could see her breath on the cold air and wondered whether those were her words that she saw. Of course, butterflies don't ever talk to ponies; Mestra Amymone wasn't certain whether they were unable or simply had nothing to say.
The weather being particularly cold out, the mare found her favorite set of clothes to insulate herself against the elements, a red sweater, white crochet hat to keep her ears warm, a light blue scarf and black rubber boots. She had initially resisted having anything over her hooves, but she wouldn’t be able to walk far without going numb if she didn’t wear them.
Were she a suspicious pony, she might have wondered why the old unicorn had mare's clothes in her size. However, Mestra Amymone simply accepted the world as it lay before her. Now dressed for the cold, she cast a final glance back at Magister, sitting in his chair by the fire. His eyes were closed in a peaceful afternoon slumber, his chest slowly rose and fell with each breath.
She softly exited the cabin, being careful to not open the door too far, as it would creak rather loudly. Shutting it quietly, Mestra Amymone and her butterfly companions found themselves in a snow covered landscape, brilliantly illuminated by the sunlight that came though the naked branches of the trees.
She walked, crunching the snow beneath her booted hooves. The sound of it was a most pleasant munching. She never worried about getting lost, because her hoof-prints always led the way home.
Once the cabin was out of sight, Mestra Amymone began practicing her words, speaking them to the butterflies as they flittered about her. She walked, enjoying the brisk bite of the wind against her face, and watching her words as they floated away like little puffs of cloud. It made her wonder who was speaking to create the big clouds that hung in the sky up above the trees. Whoever it was, she knew that they were angry sometimes, because she could hear them. Those times were particularly frightening, as the booming voice thundered so loudly. There was little chance of that today. It seemed to only happen when dark clouds filled the sky.
Mestra Amymone stopped suddenly when her hooves didn't make the right sound. Instead of the soft crunching of snow, one of her boots made a clacking noise. Her hooves also didn't sink like she expected. Looking down, she discovered a new kind of ground. It was very hard but smooth. It stretched out in front of her, and no trees grew in this place. They were all around, but there were none in this perfectly flat clearing.
She stepped forward and the world spun a moment; Mestra Amymone felt almost giddy as she lost all traction and fell hard to the ground. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she quietly swallowed them. Her side ached where she had fallen, but it only hurt a little. This was a very slippery place! With care, she began trying to stand again. It was difficult, but with some effort, she made it back onto her hooves. This time, she was much more cautious as she moved about on this strange surface.
It didn't take Mestra Amymone long to discover that she could keep her balance and slide around. It was exhilarating! She would pick up speed, as carefully as she could, and then stop, sliding for quite a distance before stopping. After a while, she began to learn that she could also move her hooves and turn. She took to this quickly and zipped around with her companions. It must have been what it was like for her butterflies to move through the air.
A loud cracking sound startled Mestra Amymone, and she froze in place, eventually sliding to a stop. She didn't know what it was, but she could see in all directions. She was in the middle of the clearing, so nothing could sneak up on her. The wiser course seemed to be returning to the cabin. There were no hoof-prints directly around her, but she quickly located the set she had left in the snow.
As she took a step, she heard another loud cracking sound; it was coming from below her. The ground shifted, and a long, splintery fissure opened up. Not knowing what this meant or what to do, she made a final attempt to move. The ground split beneath, and she fell into it.
It felt as though Mestra Amymone had just been stabbed by knives all over. She tried to cry out, but bubbles escaped, and then the icy water poured into her mouth and lungs, stinging her eyes, freezing and burning her. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened as blinding panic overwhelmed her for a moment and drove rational thought from mind.
She lost precious moments before coming back to herself, her heart racing. There was no solid ground below, but she could see light above. She thrashed and kicked and did everything she could to reach up toward it. Her head broke the surface with much coughing and sputtering. She barely had time to take a breath before she went down again. Her heart was pounding, and the sound of blood rushing in her ears was deafening. She tried to remain calm, but she was shaking all over. She did not like this place, not at all.
Through the same efforts, Mestra Amymone once again made it to the surface. She had the presence of mind to remember a single word that Magister had taught her. He told her to use it if she ever needed him. Drawing in another lungful of air, she felt herself going down again.
Mestra Amymone screamed as loudly as she could, "HELP!"
Then the water was all around again. She couldn't feel her hooves, and the pain of the frigid water didn't seem as bad now. She was choking on it, but it was all she could do to fight to reach the surface again. This time, as she came up, she tried to climb back onto the solid ice again. It broke off under her weight. She managed to keep her head up, kicking hard and pulling at smaller pieces of the shattered ground that seemed able to stay on top of the water.
Unable to even find her butterflies, she cried out again, "HELP!"
Then another piece of the ground gave way beneath her, and she plunged into the water. She suddenly felt rather confused. It was difficult to remember why she was struggling so. She shook her head but realized it was no good. She couldn't overcome the water. Her muscles ached and her legs didn't want to respond anymore. This would be her last attempt to get back on solid ground, and the forgotten pony knew it.
Finding the sweet taste of air once more, the distressed mare managed to grab the icy edge. She didn't try to climb out this time but was able to support herself on it enough to keep her head out of the water. She was crying now, because nopony had come. She had used the word that Magister had taught her, but nothing happened. She was alone, tired, and numb from head to hoof.
Just then, the ground fell away, and Mestra Amymone felt herself floating up into the air. Her butterflies swirled around her and her perception of reality seemed to be fading away. It was almost like dreaming as she soared slowly through the air.
She landed on the snowy bank and with great heaving threw up the water that had been inside her lungs. She looked up to see the old unicorn, a sweat on his brow and a look of weary terror on his face. He wasted not a second as he picked her up, she was like jelly, but he managed to get her onto his back.
The trip back to the cabin was miserable, but Magister never stopped for even a moment. They burst inside, and he very quickly stripped the soaked woolen clothes from the mare and began adding logs to the fire. He left her for a moment and then returned with a large towel and began drying her off. It was rather a strange thing; the fire should have been warm, it always was, but Mestra Amymone couldn't feel it; she could barely feel the towel. The old unicorn used a second towel and continued vigorously rubbing her down, starting at her head, and working his way down each leg in turn.
It was nearly a half hour before she felt anything. It began with a prickling like sharp needles piercing her body that was accompanied by violent shivering. Eventually, the feeling worked its way down to her hooves, but it hurt significantly more by the time it got there. The old unicorn brought some hot chocolate as soon as she stopped shaking enough to hold it. He had been crying.
"Please," he said, his gruff voice somehow very soft this time, "Don't leave like that again."
Mestra Amymone nodded quickly at this request, deciding that there was quite a lot more she needed to learn before it would be safe to go outside on her own again. The old unicorn cleared his throat and began tending to the soaked clothes that were on the floor. He stopped.
“I... I’m glad you’re safe.”
He looked back at her a moment, his eyes glistening with what looked like sorrow before he wrung out the sweater, scarf, and hat and hung them on the opposite end of the room to dry.