Since Nephilim’s arrival, Hollwshank had stuck with what she knew – which was admittedly not very much at all. Most of her days were spent with the red and black matriarch in her sight, and for a short time she had probably irritated Fly to the point of exasperation by questioning who the spotted stallion and all these new mares were. As the days and weeks passed, however, the more she saw of Nephilim and her new herd mates, the more they began to become familiar sights. They remained strangers, though, at least for now, they were familiar strangers.

The pitter-patter of light rain echoed through the early morning hustle and bustle of the bay. Waiting for the shower to clear, birds huddled together amongst the branches, chattering endlessly. It had been overcast and dull for as long as Hollowshank could remember, and certainly for long before that but finally, although the rain continued to fall, the sun managed to poke through the cloud with the promise of a warm Tinuvel day. The gentle warmth and brightness was something that fascinated the pale girl.

Hollowshank was in her element, hooves tearing up the damp grass as she cantered around the clearing, tossing her head and bucking like a filly that had just been turned out for the first time. The change in the weather made her giddy and she wasn’t about to waste a good day just standing around doing nothing. She wanted to investigate every reflected piece of sunlight and every odd shadow that the sun cast through the cross-crossing of the tree branches.

Halting on the edge of the forest, with the herd still in her peripheral, she tipped her head up, sucking in a deep breath of summer air. This was the life.