So here I sit, on this lonely mountain top, in some forsaken cave, trying to stay warm enough to make it just one more day. Even as I write this I feel myself leaving. My soul yearns for freedom. Freedom from this cold and dreadful place. Yearns to fly as far from here as physically possible until my fragile wings give out once more and I plummet back to the earth in a final swan dive show. But it's not a show. It's a lonely and forgotten pegasus that can't handle it anymore.

And as much as my soul yearns for that freedom, for that sweet release I feel my body fighting on. It holds tight to my soul, never wanting to relinquish it's firm grasp. My mind will not let me give up. I suppose my will to survive is stronger than I anticipated. I was never afraid of death. I wanted it. Stared it in the face, never blinking. I welcomed its cold embrace. But now, in this place, in this frigid tomb on the fringes of the world, I find myself fighting. I won't give up. I can't give up. I owe that to myself.

If I die, then I will die fighting. I won't lay down for anyone, that's just not who I am. I've never been the bravest or the strongest, and I'm not the fastest by a long shot. But I will never bow my head in shame, never admit defeat, because there will always be more races. More chances to prove myself. And what would I have become if I give up now?

It's only snow. I just have to get up and shake myself off. Keep moving and stay warm. I can make it through tonight, and come the first warm ray of sunshine in the morning I will take off once again. Soaring like an avalanche coming down the mountain and I will fly my way home. I'll make my apologies. Let them know where I've been and what I've seen. Tell them about this place that they might come visit one day. Perhaps on a day when it's warmer.

Even as I write this I feel my soul slipping away from my body. The cold is taking me. Tell my family I died peacefully and with no pain. Even now, hoof shaking as I write this, nothing hurts. I actually feel kind of warm. Tell them I was warm. And Rarity, my sweet and secret jewel, tell her I lo.....

"The rest is unreadable. It looks like he died while writing it."

"What should we do with it?"

"I'm thinking it belongs in a history museum. And who's Rarity?"

"The only one I knew of was from that Element of Harmony story they told us as foals."

"That's just a children's story."

"What if it wasn't?"

"Then I guess she never found out how he felt."