Through the driving rain and the whipping winds, a figure takes shape, small and round. Her rump is turned to the rain, and her head bowed, sheltered by her own body. Some of her mane clings wet to her neck and the rest blows around her face in tangled clumps caught up in the wind.
Today it does not snow, but winter still remains. The cold earth freezes the rain on contact. As uncomfortable as this weather might be, there is beauty in the way freezing rain silvers the grass, and clings to the ends of Zjeena's hair. She shakes the water from her eyes and the ice in her hair clatters like bones.
Zjeena is well suited to this weather. She is warm under thick layers of fat and hair, a healthy, young mare. Any water not frozen rolls off a well-oiled coat. Not many would turn rump to this weather and wait it out without seeking shelter, but Zjeena does. Who else dare brave the commons in such harsh conditions?
Only a stallion defiant of such weather, and hardy enough to endure it, is worthy of her attentions. This is the one benefit she considers as she waits out the storm, alone.