Come morning, the snow had fallen, deep and heavy, all over the forest. The storm cloud was still hanging moodily overhead, but it was no longer a blizzard. Large flakes continued to fall, softly and gently now, giving the scene an almost romantic feeling.
Ziema was not impressed.
The Winter Witch gathered her cloak about herself and trudged ill-temperedly into her now-buried garden of poisonous plants. "And you call yourself a blizzard?" she screamed, shaking her clenched fist at the grey sky.
The storm did not respond. She supposed she would have to make do with what she already had. She hitched up her skirts and made for the stables to saddle her goat, the next step in her quest for forest-domination.
Within a few minutes, they were off, Capriaron trotting happily over the blanket of newly-fallen snow. As the forest grew thinner, the accumulation on the ground grew deeper. The trees, some still in bloom, bent beneath the weight, branches threatening to crack.
Ziema smiled at the sight. She was the ruler of the forest. Even the trees bowed down to her now.
Queen Ziema, she thought to herself. It has a certain ring to it.
She rode to the very edge of the forest, where the snow ended abruptly in a bank at the treeline. There was scarcely a creature stirring in the woods, and all sounds were muffled by the snow, but outside of its cover, the day was warm and alive. She knew there was a town nearby, but she could not see it from here. She could hear it, though, with the aid of a bit of magic. Perhaps she would claim the village at a later date.
She had gained the power she had so desired, but now she hungered for more. What was there to stop her?
First, the forest, she decided with a smirk. Next, the world.
Then, everyone would bow down to Queen--nay, Empress--Ziema. Not just the trees.