With tiny ears pinned back against his skull, the colt slunk away from his parents and those annoying little sisters of his. Royale and Whisper were so...so...happy. And he was so...not. His lips curved downwards in a frown as he picked up his pace, wings flattened against his sides as he moved.
The snow clung to his fetlocks, clumping into little balls. He stopped every few moments, lifting a leg and shaking it, trying to dislodge the miniature annoyances, but it was to no avail. He snorted, loud enough to wake the dead, and gave a twisting buck, hind legs flying into the sky.
God! He hated winter. His parents -just- had to name him after the icy namesake, didn't they? Shaking his head, Gypsy Winter bucked again for good measure, then sighed.
