//------------------------------//
// Winter 
// Story: Timed Ramblings 
// by Midnight herald 
//------------------------------//

The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and little gusts of snow curled through the warped window frame, glinting in the weak lamplight. Pinkamena shivered and huddled deeper into her quilt. Even though it had been stitched with love, the cold got through. Even though her bedroom was safe and sound, with sweet dreams waiting for her, Pinkamena was wide awake. Even though it was past her bedtime, she was terrified, her sore eyes never quite leaving the snow lazily drifting onto the stone-tile floor.

What if she froze to death? What if the window broke and the whole storm came into her bedroom? What if the oil in her lamp burned up, and she couldn’t even see it happen? What if they got snowed all the way in and nopony found them again? Pinkamena pulled her quilt up past her chin, breathing in the old-cloth and mothball perfume that surrounded it. Her eyes never left the window. She could barely remember to blink, could hardly force herself to breathe. Icy terror, stronger for the cold room, gripped at her legs and turned her muscles into jelly. She whimpered a little and squirmed around on her creaky bed, furrowing out a trough of warmth.

“Pinkie, you gotta stand up tall, learn to face your fears,” she sang softly to herself. her words misted and froze in the air and she wished more than ever that she knew where her nightcap was. The tips of her ears tingled with a numbing cold, and she twitched them madly to try and keep them warm. A huge gust of wind rattled the windowpane, and Pinkamena whimpered. “You’ll find that they can’t hurt you, just laugh and make them disappear...” Pinkie’s nose stung from the cold, and she held her quilt just a little bit tighter, breathing in the old-cloth and mothball aroma. It smelled like love, it smelled like warmth. It smelled like Granny Pie. A shy little smile appeared under the safety of the quilt, perched carefully on her mouth. And a little, tiny, wounded chuckle dropped from her lips, heavily landing in the chilly room. 

The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and little gusts of snow curled through the warped window frame, glinting in the weak lamplight. The windowpane rattled again, and Pinkamena shivered with cold and terror. She laughed again, a bitter, painful sound. She kept laughing because there was nothing left to do. She’d been tucked in, she’d had a lullaby, and she’d gotten a goodnight. And that meant she should stay in bed. Good little fillies stayed in bed. And Granny Pie loved her because she was a good little filly. So she kept laughing, because she was still scared. She kept laughing, because it was better than crying. Tears would probably freeze right now, and that would hurt a bunch.

Pinkie laughed until her throat felt tight and raw from the winter air she breathed. She laughed ‘till she shook in a cold sweat, ‘till her rictus smile showed teeth half frozen, ‘till she could only manage harsh, percussive “Ha!”s that sounded almost like crying. Each angry, pathetic little “Ha!” echoed through the chilly room, as if reminding her exactly how alone she was. Pinkie laughed some more, laughed even though she was tired beyond tired, even though her eyes slid out of focus, even though she wanted nothing more than to dream of warm summer afternoons. Pinkamena couldn’t close her eyes, not for one second. She was terrified.

The door to the bedroom opened with a low groan, and old, slow hooves walked their way over to her bed. Pinkie caught a whiff of old-fabric and mothballs, before a warm, loving hoof pushed her damp, chilly mane out of her rictus smile and shaking, frightened eyes. “Pinkie?” She looked up and saw Granny Pie’s wrinkly face, extra wrinkly from being worried. “Pinkie, dear, what on earth are you doing?”

Pinkamena licked her cold teeth and winced at the warmth of her tongue, before swallowing. “I was scared,” she whispered back. “An’ I was going to be a good little filly and stay in bed, but I was scared, so I was laughing.”

Granny Pie picked Pinkamena up and hoisted her onto her strong, unbowed back. She walked the two of them past the glowing-coal hearth and into Granny’s bedroom. Though the wind wailed, it didn’t seem quite as angry. The floor was clean of snowflakes, though it was still cold. Then Granny tucked them both in and snuggled Pinkamena tight. “It’s alright now, Pinkie,” she whispered, kissing Pinkamena on the forehead. “You’ll be alright, now that I’m here. There’s nothing to be scared of.” And Granny gave a big, wrinkly smile to Pinkamena before closing her eyes and gently drifting back into her dreams. The winter winds screamed and wailed around the old cabin, and Pinkie was terrified. But at least she was warm now, and so she hugged her Granny tight and slowly sank into sleep herself, as the storm outside howled and raged at the four walls around them. She dreamt of wolves and ice and cruel, angry laughter.