The light sprinkling of snow that previously covered the forest floor is now nothing more than a puddle in the earth. While the mud is possibly more of a nuisance to trudge through than the snow, it’s presence signifies one thing; winter is almost over.

Jömungandr has taken to counting down the days until winter is over and spring arrives and with it, her foal. She feels close to bursting and it had begun to annoy her long before this moment. She sticks close to the herd, comforted by their presence but sometimes she requires more than their silent company. Lifting her head from a patch of grass that made her feel ill, as did everything she ate lately, she scanned over the figures of those closest to her. She’d been defaulting to Lyden’s company too often and knew she needed to be more sociable. Her irritation with the tiny creature in her womb makes her poor company at the best of times but perhaps a chat with one of the other mares could be just the distraction she needs.

Moving as briskly as a heavily pregnant mare can move, she makes a beeline for the familiar, dark form of Azazel - the only mare of Lyden’s that stuck close to the rest of the herd and the only one she actually knew beyond a name. She sends out a soft nicker, alerting the other woman to her presence and bumps her muzzle lightly against the mare’s dark barrel in a friendly gesture. ”Is it spring yet?” she jokes wistfully.