The Epic of Brightblade Warpony

Chapters XIII

"We have come to a critical point in out journey," said flame-maned Epona. The floor of the cavern turned down sharply before them into a vast emptiness. A cold wind emanated from the blackness which chilled the travelers to the bone. Whips of mist carried on the wind appeared like shades fleeing the underworld. A slander rod of ice spanned the void like a bridge; it appeared to be the only way across the pit.
"The crossing will be difficult. The ice is slick and the winds are strong, too strong for flying. There are also spirits about, you must have focus lest they deceive you. Only when I tell you, will you be safe."
"Kharr!" screeched Breeks. "And what if we hear you and it is only the spirits' deception?"
Epona answered, looking at Brightblade, not Breeks, "The spirits cannot mimic me, I am beyond their power."
Brightblade did not understand what she meant by this; Breeks huffed and ruffled his feathers.
Epona stepped lightly onto the glassy bridge. Her movements were smooth and graceful, she seemed almost to glide across the ice.
"That doesn't seem so hard," said Brightblade.
"She is nearly as bad as the spirits," replied Breeks. "Kraah!"
Brightblade stepped up to the abyss. "Well, we might as well get this over with." The Warpony tentatively put his fore-hoof on the ice. It was cold and slick but he pressed on. The frigid wind from the depth whipped around the pony and the raven perched upon his horn, and it chilled them to the bone. Breeks tucked his beak under his wing.
Brightblade found it difficult to maintain his footing and the wind was getting stronger the further he went, but he persistently moved forward. It was getting so that he could hardly feel his hooves, at one point he almost fell when his hoof missed the bridge.
After he recovered, he continued his crossing. He was beginning to hear the voices of the spirits in the wind, though he could not make out their words. His eyelids were becoming heavy with ice and his vision was blurred but he thought he could see the spirits flying about, and sometimes through, him. He could feel is coat becoming heavy with ice and his legs becoming stiff.
Brightblade inched forward through what had become like a blizzard. He did not know long he had been going, nor how much farther he hat to go, but he could not give up. He closed his eyes, lowered his head and pressed on. Just as he felt his legs about to fail him, the Warpony heard a familiar voice: it was Epona.
"You have done well, Warpony. You have made the crossing successfully, now it is time to rest."
Brightblade opened his eyes. He was standing on solid ground. There was no wind, his coat was cold but not icy, and Breeks had spread his wings. "Kharr! Well done, Warpony," the raven called.
"Now we will rest," said Epona, "while Brightblade continues telling his tale."

Since Kerberus' pack was no longer a threat, we had decided to rest for a time at the Temple of Light before heading back to Ponyland. It was a week before we set out. We traveled eastward toward the Packlands rather than northward toward the Lands of Death from which we came. We reached the Packlands after two days journey. There the Packlands were so rough and rocky that much of the terrain was impassable. Though our destination lie in the north, we were often forced to travel east, west, or even south for nearly a day at a time to circumvent towering, wall-like projections of rock.
It took us three times as long to reach the point where we fled into the Lands of Death than it had taken us to reach the Temple of Light from that juncture. Being there, where we had first encountered Kerberus and his pack brought back unpleasant memories of a desperate act that had liberated us from one of Kerberus' lieutenants. Little did we know how much that act would haunt us in the days to come�
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