It seems most mares are drawn to this place in a time of need or a swing of rebellion, but are then drawn to the company of the opposite sex. Morena has seen quite a few faces come and go on the Peak, but she is beginning to recognize a few faces that seems to stay. Morena herself has stayed. She was tempted to descend the mountain by hormones in fall, but a strong curiosity, and a desire to be a part of something different enabled her to resist the urge.

She wonders why no one of any authority has approached her. Perhaps they think she wants to be left alone after the loss of her brother and mother, but this is not the case at all. Morena craves the company of others, and she spends her winter in restless wandering, eating mouthfuls of snow and chewing on trees for fuel to keep her going.

Morena is young, and by the length of her legs, it's clear she still has much growing to do. She is on the cusp of adulthood, no longer a foal, but not yet a mare. Winter has wasted her some, but Morena's hardy breeding keeps her coat thick and her flesh substantial through the most difficult time of year. Her broad hooves navigate the ice and snow with a natural efficiency.

The young mare moves out onto a sharply-sloped meadow with the all the surefootedness of a mountain goat. She finds a suitable place where the snow looks relatively undisturbed and begins to paw through the crust. When she reaches the frosted ground and finds nothing to eat, her face falls with disappointment. For a moment she stands, with her head hung and her ears drooped, but a moment later the quiet is broken by a frustrated snort. Morena strikes the barren ground with a violent paw and lets loose an exasperated cry. Though she fares well with little to sustain her, Morena is hungry, and the quiet is driving her mad.