As it seemed, Briar was forgiven. But the gap between them seemed as impassable as a rushing river, and she was hesitant to step further into the cave. She stared at the ground and shuffled her feet under the other mare's gaze, feeling her scrutiny and growing self-conscious. She knew she didn't exactly look the picture of health: her body, though more filled-out than previous years, was still rather thin, and she hadn't properly groomed in months. They were a pair, her mud-splattered and ragged, the other mare bloodied and obviously hurting. The only bright spot in this situation was the small frosted form laying at her hooves.

It was Briar's turn to stare at the ground, her ears folding back. She was always around, but it was rare if she was ever truly present in a herd anymore. Her interactions with the others were few and far between, and the less practice she got, the harder it seemed to be to keep it up. She wanted to hide all day instead, wedge herself into some rock or underbrush and forget the outside world. In her cocoon of dreams, she was sheltered from the disappointments of life.

They stood in the quiet for a moment, but soon Winter beckoned her closer. The painted mare glanced up, nervous and awkard all over again, and took a few steps farther into the cavern. There was space for her, and she fit easily, but she still felt uncomfortable. This was a private moment and she'd intruded on it to soothe her own selfish loneliness. The filly rose, though not quite willingly. Briar heard Winter's words but was too busy eyeing the mare's stiff movements to really take them in. She hadn't answered her first question. Watching her, the answer was clear: something was inhibiting the snowy mare's movement, but Briar dropped the subject for the moment. She would have to move around sometime. The problem would show itself naturally, and when it did, Briar would help. If anyone was patient, it was her.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled, her breath blowing from her in a soft exhaled cloud. "For the... the last time." It really wasn't Winter's fault she'd run. She'd grown so attached to that wounded colt, so protective, and she'd been so high-strung at that time that she'd acted quite unlike herself. Her affections for the colt had been all for naught, just like she assumed they'd be. He was gone, too. Like Ivan, like Anna, like Natalya and Azaleya and all the rest, he'd left her side for good.

For once, she wanted to be the one do the leaving.