Ylva creeps like a deer back into the lowlands skirting the Peak, her step slow and cautious, her ears pricked and eyes keen for the slightest movement. All is still and quiet but for the low whistle of the chilly autumn wind carving its way through the rocks and grass, and the occasional scurrying of small rodents in and out of burrows on the hillside.

She leaves her growing son there on the high knoll, before making her way carefully downhill into the valley, following the same path she had months before. She tests the air with flared nostrils every step of the way, but can detect nothing of the black and white stallion that had cornered her during her first visit. Remembering the gleeful malice that had shone in his eyes as he had launched himself at her, his teeth bared and hooves outstretched, gives Ylva a little shiver down her spine.

It had taken her months to regain her courage in coming here, but even still, she had insisted in coming here alone.

Thankfully, Ylva does not need to descend quite so far this time before she spies the form of another horse, a familiar tall, blanketed individual who stands dozing in the sun. While Ylva is pleased to see the elder mare is still around and in good health, her presence gives Ylva pause. Should she continue her descent into the forest, in the hopes of finding the commanding young mare who had defended them from the stallion’s attack, or should she approach this mare again, in the hopes her superior age has given her useful knowledge of the Peak that she can impart on Ylva?

As the wind whips her cream-and-russet mane against her face, Ylva makes her decision. She approaches the tall old mare at a leisurely pace, her movements more loose and relaxed now that she’s in the presence of another.

With a gentle whicker, the dun mare greets her. “Hello. I don’t suppose you remember me - we ran into one another a while ago.” Her voice tilts upwards in silent question.