Jörmungandr stands not far from the pale stallion. She grazes idly, nosing snow out of the way, while he does whatever it is he is doing. From her vantage point, she can’t quite tell if he’s standing guard or dozing and hasn’t worked her way round to finding out yet. Her appetite has increased lately, no doubt supporting the foal growing in her womb which left her feeling hungry, fat and uncomfortable most of the day. She has also been sticking closer to the herd as much as possible. Although she will never admit to it, her current condition has left her feeling vulnerable and only the presence of the others calms her nerves. She does not enjoy pregnancy, but what mare truly does?

Skylar and Quicksilver still seem to be eluding the herd’s company and she silently grumbles about their lack of integration. Winter isn’t the best time to go off wandering alone and though she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the one, she knew whichever is the roan paint is also in the same predicament as herself. A pregnant mare is a sitting duck to predators. She wonders why Lyden hasn’t tracked the pair down and herded them back to the group.

At least Azazel has been staying relatively close, normally within Jörmungandr’s radar. It must have been quite a shock to enter right at the exact moment everyone congregated for the first time. Of course, on the bright side, at least she walked in for the introductions rather than trying to integrate into an already tight knit herd. The buckskin’s ears twist, listening for the presence of the black mare.

A thundering of hooves and crashing of overgrowth not far off catches her attention though she does not pay it much heed. There is a notable difference between a horse running for fun and one outrunning an assailant so best leave her to it. It’s not like Jörmungandr could join in. A soft, barely audible snort of irritation rushes from her nostrils and she shifts her weight restlessly. She wonders how much longer it is until spring, pawing at the snow in front of her.

Eventually, the thundering grows louder, accompanied by hoarse breaths and the black mare appears from amongst the trees. Jörmungandr’s head swings upwards, blue eyes settling on the woman who is still catching her breath, having obviously enjoyed herself immensely. The buckskin swings around, moving to greet the mare at the same time as Lyden does. She drops her muzzle briefly to exchange friendly breaths with the mare. ”I wish I could still run like that.” she jokes, shifting her weight so that the foal is in a more comfortable position.

She raises an invisible eyebrow at Lyden joining Azazel on the ground. She was quite sure that if she joined them, she wouldn’t be getting up again until she’s gives birth! Regardless, someone had to keep watch when they were both in a vulnerable position. Although she listens as Lyden apologises to the mare for her arriving at a not so perfect time; her attention shifts to the immediate area and any dangers therein. Satisfied that there were none, she turns her head back to the pair.