Jabberwocky was gone, the Cove herd disbanded. The stallions had slowly disappeared, followed by a steady flow of mares and the arrival of another male. Woodbine did not miss his birthplace. He had spent most of his time on the outskirts of the herd with his mother; his herd mates and even his father remained bare acquaintances – there was nothing for him to miss so long as Meraki was by his side.

So when his mother had suggested adventure, Woodbine had been only too willing to accept her invitation with childish enthusiasm. He ran eagerly at her side, accepting her gentle nudges of encouragement with small squeaks and a flick of his fluffy, half-grown tail.

All of his senses were alert as he followed Meraki, curious and attentive. The rest of Tinuvel did not seem very different from the Cove – everywhere was as cold and frosty as the home they had left behind – but it was exciting to see the sights. The smells were equally interesting, especially the strange, unfamiliar one that his mother veered away from, seemingly much more interested in the salty breeze that began to ruffle their hair.

Meraki took him by surprise when she threw herself into a wild gallop. His mother had never been lazy nor boring, but he could not remember ever going so fast. He sped up, bucking as he went, the cold, salty air stinging his nostrils as his breathing quickened. Meraki leapt easily down the hill they had climbed, but Woodbine slowed and picked his way down the incline more carefully. He was growing fast, but his steps were still clumsy at times and he was wary of falling in his inexperience.

He joined her happily in the shallows, however, splashing playfully at his dam and squealing as the cool water hit his skin.

He first noticed the mare approaching them when he span around in the water, kicking, causing him to stop suddenly – his attention stolen. She stopped at the water’s edge and spoke. Woodbine looked over his shoulder at his mother, but did not feel the need to retreat away from the stranger. He turned back to the gold and white woman, looking at her inquisitively, and introduced himself in that blunt way children have.

“Woodbine,” he said simply.

a white lie is the blackest of all