It was not a pleasant day.

A bitter wind whipped around the bay, whistling through the trees and howling past the walls of the far away cliff faces. Sleet fell steadily from the sky which was hidden beneath a heavy, black veil of cloud. Hollowshank was tucked away in one of the far corners of the bay’s forest, not entirely sure where she was, why or how she got there or even how to return to the herd. A few long scratches of indeterminable origin adorned the left side of the sooty mare’s rump and barrel though she seemed entirely unconcerned by them.

The pale mare’s ears swivelled curiously though caught the sound of little more than the wind and the creaking and rustling of the trees and their leaves. Under normal circumstances, Hollowshank might have felt anxious and scared, perhaps even lonely, but she had passed the threshold of what was normal for her and now a new normal was gradually taking its place. The bay herd were beginning to fade from her mind, becoming vague memories of red and gold and black and…..little else.

Mud squelched and popped beneath her hooves as she picked her way through the trees, blue eyes casually keeping a look out for whatever might by hiding behind the trees and sleet.