With each passing moment, and with each word that leaves her lips, Vodnik is reassured that his choice to pursue this mare was a wise one. If she is afraid, she doesn't show it. It's clear she's alert, which is to be expected. She is, after all, in a strange place with a stallion who is nothing more than a stranger to her. But despite all of this, nothing in her behavior betrays weakness.

Macabre accepts his offer to show her the way to water, but it's the small things he notices. They way she tosses her forelock out of her eyes stirs the butterflies in his stomach. He is enthralled by every turn of her head, every flick of her tail, and even the way the morning light highlights the dust on her back. Vodnik has never felt this way before about any mare, and he can't call it a welcome feeling. He tries to shake it off before muttering a deep "Follow me." and striding away across the clearing.

Vodnik may be large but he isn't clumsy. He makes a lot of noise trampling any undergrowth, but his steps are sure and deliberate. On even ground, he is easy to follow, widening the path with his forceful mass and broad hooves.

The way isn't long but at one point, it's steep. They encounter a slope of soft, disturbed earth and it soon becomes apparent why it looks the way it does. Vodnik steps boldly onto the slope, braces his legs and slides easily down. When he reaches the bottom, his hind feathers are coated in loose dirt up to his hocks. He turns for a moment, to see how Macabre navigates the hill. He's not slowing his pace for her, or choosing an easy path. As much as Macabre is undoubtedly sizing him up, he is doing the same, observing her reactions, and measuring her capabilities.

At the bottom of the hill the air smells suddenly damp. The soil beneath his hooves is soft and dark. A vast expanse of skunk cabbage hides the creek from view, but it's waters softly tumbling along it's pebbled banks can be clearly heard.