Sigrún wasn’t aware of what was going on. There had been a skirmish, she could tell by the sound of masculine cries and grunts and the scent of a strange male. Dögun and his apparent new second had returned to the herd but Freya and the silver haired mare that she did not know, did not return with them. The roan could only assume that the invading stallion had been successful in taking the two mares away. Dögun left the herd shortly after.

Days passed and the fat dun began to wonder if the Icelandic male was going to come back or if he had perhaps just gone away to try and retrieve his mares. A pang of jealousy flared at the thought of him going after the other mares when he had not done so for her but she soon pushed the thought down with a mouthful of frosty grass. Sigrún would always be just another member of any herd, Freya was important, she was the lead mare. The grulla had long ago made peace with her role within the herd and was too lazy to demand more. Sigrún was not a mare to be fought over or remembered, she was merely there to add numbers, produce young and engage in some mutual grooming. So long as she was protected and well-fed, she was happy to oblige.

Not long after Dögun had disappeared, the familiar face of Silver returned to the herd. Sigrún was not sure where the white mare had been, but she seemed on edge – perhaps she sensed that all was not right as well. The roan considered asking if she was having a problem but a painted mare was never far from the other mare’s side. Although the mare seemed kindly enough, her yellow eyes reminded Sigrún of the beast whose seed might be growing within her. Until she found out, as best she could, who her foal belonged to, she would rather not think of the yellow eyed creature.

Unnaturally cold air descended on the Inlet and for once, Sigrún took more notice of the rest of the herd. The dumpy woman lingered closer, her dark eyes trained on Darius, who had been left in charge. With no lead mare and no Dögun, someone was going to have to take charge and move the herd soon. She had witnessed weather like this in the mountains and it would wipe out all who were not quick enough or smart enough to find shelter before the worst storms hit.

Finally, when she can hardly bare the tension any longer, a familiar cry echoed throughout the inlet. Dögun had returned and she could sense by the urgency in his tone that he understood what was coming. He began to herd them and she moved with ease, her usual lazy stride replaced by a hurried one that would surely rip her breath away after a time. Sigrún was not used such exercise, but she was strong and would power through it until she, and the rest of the herd were safe.

For once she sought out another herd member, the only one she knew even a little. She moved to Silver’s side, - the opposite side from the yellow eyed mare should she be with her - and with a nicker to announce herself, placed her muzzle along the mare’s barrel or thigh (depending on how much difficultly the shorter, fatter mare, had traversing the snowy ground). In conditions such as these, with visibility so poor, remaining in contact was their best chance of survival.