Ashteroth stood in the midst of her sisters, her dark blue eyes closed and her breath steady as she dozed. The bits of winter grass had been sufficient in filling her belly, making the young mare sleepy, and saw no reason not to take a nap. Ever since the stand off with the grey stallion over Hollis, and although Ashteroth did not take active participation in the ordeal as she had watched from the sidelines, it had made the blue roan mindful of her surroundings. So, when the intruder’s scent wafts through the air, sending Mae and her two daughters further up into the mountain to hide from him, Ashteroth turns in his direction and begins to descend the mountain to meet him.


The sharp winter winds that tug at the stocky mare are hardly felt. Her coat is heavy; a blessing given to her by Tinuvel, and she barely feels the cold in her legs as the little bit of feathers help to shield and protect her. Her thick, black mane is tossed over onto the other side of her muscular neck than where it usually lies and the tangled tendrils of her tail whip around her back legs. Only when she turns along the mountain face, letting the rock and earth block the wind, does it all settle.


“You must be lost.” Ashteroth says; her voice clear, and confident. The painted mare stops, keeping the higher ground, so that she could look down on the stallion that was a few feet away now. Her blue gaze is as frigid as the winter air around them. “Your kind aren’t welcome here.” Although this is the first time that she had protected the Peak, she carries the self-assurance as if she had done it a thousand times.


ASHTEROTH