Therese had expected others to be roused by the smell of blood, but she had not expected things to turn out like this. It was not Vercingetorix that came to seek them out, nor Nymeria - the mare who seemed to had taken up an important role in the herd - it was someone that Therese had not met before, although the golden's face seemed somewhat familiar.

There was clearly some sort of history between the golden mare and the black and white carcass on the ground, because when Fleete paused and let her eyes drift over the body there was a spark of recognition. Therese steps towards her son, as if to push him away from the situation, and Sverre lifts his head, turning towards the stranger.

Fleete's reaction is not what Therese expects, and as the golden mare comes bumbling forward and pushes past Therese's shoulders, Therese automatically reacts with defensive violence. Stumbling backwards but reaching out to squeal and nip at the air above Fleete's shoulders. The grieving mother doesn't seem to notice - she doesn't notice anything. Not Therese or Sverre, not her own daughter who stumbles along behind her, nor the filly that lies on the ground.

Therese can do nothing but stand, shuffling her weight from hoof to hoof as Sverre stares out from behind her. She should leave, this was not her problem, nor did she have any emotional investment in this family. After a few moments of silence she finally speaks up, "The child," she says. "It will die on its own," she explains, indicating her silvery nose towards the small bundle.