The black draft had managed to escape.

Jasiri didn't know whether it had happened during her naps throughout the night, or when she had been so focused on digging through the first light snowfall and devouring grass she almost forgot to swallow, or when she stood shuddering and trying to distract herself from the cold. Even thought her winter coat had started to grow, it still was not at its fullest and she feared for the end of autumn. Things were not looking good for the silver mare.

Luckily, she was able to warm up as she searched for the mbwa jike. The first flutters of snow had happened so early and her ears swiveled about nervously. She left the cover of the mountains (like it was much cover, the wind seemed to pass right through the craggy cliffs) to trot alongside the forest line of the bay. She shivered wildly as the harsh wind picked up again. She knew she could adapt eventually; her Percheron blood could not fail her. Would not fail her.

She spotted the black mare after only a few short minutes. "Areo Hotah," she greeted the large stallion behind her and kept her sigh of relief tucked away inside. Even though she could feel the gratefulness flooding her voice, she did not care. It looked like the greying stallion had stopped Jasiri's only capture from fleeing to the bay herd. Fetching her would have been an absolute chore.