Spring was here. The more tolerable temperatures of winter were beginning to give way to the heat once more. The heat combined with the rain left Olaf’s coat feeling warm and sticky. He didn’t find it particularly pleasant but he had little to complain about for the time being. Warsong had disappeared a few days ago and returned with a spotted foal at her side - his foal, Gravewolf. The boy was strong and borrowed some of the thickness of Olaf’s build. He would undoubtedly find the heat more tolerable than Olaf though, especially growing up in it.

Chianti had slipped away not long ago and he was sure she too would soon reappear with his foal in toe. He worried more for one of the mares that he had taken from the pony on Tinuvel, however. The draft looked set to drop any day now – if she hadn’t already. Olaf wasn’t sure if she would strive to keep the child away from him for fear that he might dispose of it. Olaf had no intentions to do so, he had even allowed her son to remain until he was fully weaned – something which rubbed him the wrong way, but he’d brought the mare here. It was not her or the boy’s fault that his sire was not Olaf.

Olaf snorted and dropped his head to drink when he reached the edge of the river. Gravewolf tottered closer from Warsong’s, wondering what his sire was up to.