Spring is well and truly in the air. Fresh shoots of juicy green grasses cover the forest floor, adorned by pretty flowers in vibrant colours. Though there had been a light drizzle of rain in the morning, the gentle afternoon sun has already dried out any patches of mud that had cropped up. Jörmungandr stood in the shade of one of the willows, her head lowered at she picked lazily at the grass. Her pale son dozed quietly at her hooves, flaked out in the rays of sunlight that broke through the willow's leaves. When he woke, Jörmungandr decided she would seek out Azazel - she would surely be eager to meet the boy.

Jörmungandr has not seen much of Azazel since their last chat, she'd had her hands, or rather hooves, full with her newborn son. While the first few days had been awash with worry while the boy seemed weak, he picked up suddenly and was beginning to become quite the troublemaker. This fact did not surprise Jörmungandr in the slightest but it does grate on her nerves at times. Of course,  one look in Joukahainen's mismatched eyes and all is forgiven. Azazel had been right about how the buckskin would take to motherhood. All her worries about knowing what to do had vanished in the blink of an eye. Instinct is an impressive thing.

Hearing Joukahainen huff and roll onto his front, her eyes scanned the area for the black mare, keen to find her before the boy took off again.