The leafy trees were beginning to change into deep crimsons, bright oranges and yellows; a sign for the change of seasons. He watches in wonder as the world changes around him. Björn quietly wanders down one of the trails that runs parallel to the border that separates them from the Prairie. He is curious of the horses that live out in that wide expanse of grass, maybe someday he will venture there. He sighs, his attention is adverted by the a distant call. His ears flick, he knows that it must be important.

He pivots away from the border, and chooses a ground covering trot. His mane blows out from behind his slate colored neck. He chooses trail after trail until he weaves himself back towards where the call had originated. As he nears the slowly gathering herd, he slows to a walk. His nostrils flare with each breath. Crystal eyes meander over the members, he recognizes Xina, Olaf, and Jökulrós, his mother has yet to appear. He looks away, and knows that she must of disappeared again.

He wanders closer to the herd, positioning himself near to Jökulrós. He wants to insure that she will be kept safe, wherever they may be moving to.