The familiar Tinuvel winter had finally arrived, and Kohelet relished in meeting it with new eyes. Of course, the Bay and the Cove were not exactly the same, and weathering the harsh realities of winter in her new home required some adaptation, but the essence of it all was the same. The frigid Nothern wind still threatened to steal her warmth if she didn't stay in cover, the scraggly pine trees were still dangerous to walk beneath after a fresh snow, and the easiest place to graze was where the sun warmed the snow in the late afternoon.

Some of it was different, however. As the only one of Fell's mares that had ever endured a Tinuvel winter before, she had taken it upon herself to try and ease the transition for them. She woke early to make paths through the freshly fallen snow, and lead them to the open water spots so that they didn't hurt their teeth chewing on the ice. Taking care of them, and of Fell, was a welcome respite for the anxieties that plagued her in the quieter moments.

Fell had been the hardest of her tasks, although she would have never expected as much in the beginning. His inability to speak and his stubborn refusal to stop and rest had nearly made her frantic with worry as he plunged again and again into the frigid waters of the ocean. Each time, the memory of her father's time-worn and exhausted face rose in her memory, and she fretted in his absence. What if this time, he did not come back to her? What if this time he disappeared as her father had?

And still, her affection for him had not waned.

She was not unhappy with her lot in life. In fact, Kohelet was happier than she had ever been, but that didn't stop her from worrying about the future. The no-longer-subtle swell of her belly had confirmed her late fall suspicions, and she knew for certain now that she was carrying her first child. As much as she had begun to hope for that very outcome, it terrified her. She didn't feel as if she knew anything about mothering, or nurturing, or caring for a hapless infant, and yet she could not (nor would she have) take it back.

Today seemed to be reserved for fretting about where in the whole expanse of the Bay she would give birth when the time came. She was partial to the lower slopes of the mountains closest to the Cove for the sake of being able to call out for her mother if things went poorly, but the mountains were also where the predators tended to congregate during foaling season. The lower, more open area would be safer, perhaps, but the thought of someone coming across her while she was prone and defenseless like that made her stomach churn uneasily.

Likely reacting to the change in their mother's mood, her child shifted in her womb and she started at the still-alien feeling with a soft exhalation of surprise. Despite the way her heart raced, Kohelet turned a smile toward her belly and awkwardly brushed at her side, murmuring a soft apology. She didn't know if her baby could hear her or not, but it made her feel better to assume that they could. Sighing softly, Kohelet opted to try and soothe her worries by walking instead, counting on the rhythmic motion to help soothe her little one to sleep and her mind to settle. It didn't always work, but the alternative was to stand here and fret more.

As she walked, her gaze alighted on a dark-colored horse with warm umber tones that peaked through at various points on her body. Against the largely monochrome color of a Tinuvel winter, she was hard to miss and to forget. Kohelet was certain that she would have remembered her if she had been a previous resident of the Bay and immediately assumed that she must be another new arrival, perhaps the result of Fell's latest Crossing escapade. The tobiano mare liked to be there when he returned, but Fell was his own creature with his own motives and it was more than possible that she had missed his return.

Lifting her charcoal muzzle, Kohelet nickered sweetly toward the mare and then threaded a new path through the snow to join her. She knew that some horses preferred to keep their own company, even in the dead of winter, but that wouldn't stop her from offering companionship. She knew how bitter these northern winters could get.

"Hello!" She greeted brightly, a smile forming on her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you arrive. I'm Kohelet. Did you arrive this morning?"

A cursory glance said that was a likely guess; the mare was mostly dry, but her fur still clumped together in small patches where air drying alone would not separate them. And a secondary glance behind her revealed a trail that led straight back toward where the ocean met the Bay's shore, further implying she had just arrived. Politely, Kohelet extended her muzzle for an exchange of breath if the other mare was willing, and upon pulling back, realized that this stranger did not carry any of Fell's scent.

"Oh," she said softly, a frown appearing. Hastily, aware that her change of emotion might indicate she was unhappy with the mare, Kohelet hurried to explain. "I apologize, I assumed you had come here with Fell. You didn't, did you?" And then, because she was still worried about her handsome stallion's whereabouts, she couldn't hide the little note of worry that crept into her voice. "You haven't seen him have you?"