To say their meeting had ended on bad terms felt like an understatement. The chestnut tried to act normally, and put her distress at her argument with her friend aside, but Nymeria grew distant and cold. The little interaction they’d had before was lost; though Brynja kept herself within the center of the herd, and kept on dutifully minding the needs of her herdmates, she felt more alone inside than ever. She spent a lot of their very quiet time in thought, going over and over that rainy day in her head. Had she overstepped her boundaries in questioning the strong grey mare’s authority? Back home, it was no strange thing to ask for, and even demand, proof of quality leadership. But it was done by established members of the herd, ones who had been there for some time and had the experience to make good decisions concerning the group’s welfare. Brynja had been here for months, but she still didn’t know where she stood with everyone, because everyone refused to interact. She had no idea if she had any pull in the first place. And now she was worried she’d started something too big for her to handle.

The day Nymeria disappeared, Brynja noticed. The noise from her regular pacing and crashing through the trees was suddenly absent, and when she scanned the trees, her friend was gone from view. Brynja assumed she was finally in labor, and secretly felt glad for it. The mare was overly large and nearly everyone else had already dropped their foals. Ygritte, long-legged and still small but as bright and warm as the sun, followed her dam’s gaze and nearly ran off into the underbrush to investigate, impeded only by Brynja’s sharp nip on her hindquarters. She sulked back to the chestnut’s side, sullenly sticking her muzzle between her legs and nursing.

The hours passed. Brynja grew anxious, not only from Nym’s absence but from the scene unfolding between Vercingetorix and the other mare’s grown yearling. Her other filly had been gone for some time now, but the blanketed girl had hung around, clearly overstaying her welcome in the stallion’s eyes. She knew it was part of life, and that the filly could not remain; she had to go, see the world for herself, make her own mark on the land. Had Brynja not been turned out for the same reason? Watching the dun cut her off from the rest of them and then finally run her out still made her sad. She watched Asha’s retreating form dart through the trees, and when she disappeared, she bent her head to graze, feeling forlorn.

After a while, there was a rustling nearby. Brynja raised her head and to her surprise, it was Nym, walking slowly along the edges of the clearing the herd had clustered themselves in for the day. The strange brown filly was at her side, as usual, but now a stormy colt clung to her side, his black stripes as vivid as Ygritte’s red ones.

Brynja was not the only one who had noticed the mare’s arrival, however, and as she looked around she noticed Torix staring at the trio, nostrils flared wide. She watched, wondering how he would react when faced with the results of Autumn, when a noise at her side caught her attention. She swiveled her head back, but it was too late: with a flash of yellow and russet, her own daughter was off and running, darting to plant herself directly in front of Vercingetorix. For some reason, she wasn’t as interested in the foals as she’d been before. They were old news to her. It was this stallion, his coat remarkably like hers, that she’d never seen before. Her brown eyes were hard, and though she instinctively ground her teeth, her silent message was clear: “Who the Hell are you?”

Brynja whuffed a frustrated sigh. Her filly was as slippery as a river trout, and if she was so determined to place herself in potentially dangerous situations, she would have to learn the consequences. Her dam would step in if need be, but for now she shifted her gaze to Nym and her foals. Her eyes flashed, and she whickered softly, tentatively extending her muzzle and flaring her nostrils. She didn’t make any move to advance, careful of the old tensions between her and Nym and potential protectiveness for the newborn colt. Her once-friend was stressed enough lately without Brynja pushing into her space. She would let her approach, if she so wished.