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"...The blizzard came and closed off our homes. I remember before, when the weather was bad, our humans would come and put us in our warm barns with a blanket and a deep footing of sawdust. We do not have this here, in the wild: those who did not seek shelter in time were swallowed up into the storm. Some of them died. The next day, you could see the frozen scattered corpses of those who weren’t lucky. A quiet hung in the air, sadness in everyone for those who had lost their way and ultimately surrendered their lives to Mother Nature. There was relief, too, for those who survived.

Spring came and foals were being born again: this offered some relief from the tragedies of winter, but not much. Cougars and wolves taught their young to hunt, and it was not a rare thing to see the remains of a young foal and sometimes its mother, too. I remember when the mares gave birth in the stables. They were given the utmost care: veterinarians were called, grain was fed, and everyone looked on with eager eyes; excited to see the new arrival. Accidents happened, but they certainly weren’t so frequent.

These things are common for our wild brethren—it seems it is easier for them to move on and forget. For us, the domesticated horses (or rather, those who can remember the time before the Great Sorrow,) they are still new and will remain with us always..."