The quiet of the thicket hugged him like a blanket, putting his frayed mind at ease; it was only a few minutes before Kune began to descend into the thick fog of sleep. Yet his strážce instincts were still poised and ready, like a cat on the hunt, and the moment the woods around him began to rustle with activity, he snapped awake. Jerking his head up and staring in the direction of the noise, Kune remained rooted to the ground, though all his equine instincts screamed at him to get up and run. Cold dread gripped him in the seconds before he caught sight of the stranger.
It was a tall black mare. The naked winter trees and cold white light from above presented her features clearly, and though she almost immediately turned her head away from the sight of him, Kune caught a glimpse of her powerful Roman nose. His heart fluttered hopefully and he stumbled to his feet, impervious to the aches and pains that jolted through his battered body, just as words from his native tongue tumbled from the mare's mouth. It could not be. "Matka," Kune breathed, but in the next moment the lighting shifted, and Kune’s sleep-deprived brain finally processed that the mare was too tall and too young. It was a stranger standing before him. Yet she was... she was undeniably…
His heart plummeted, then lifted again. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Were the spirits taunting him? Lost for words, he stood stiff and mute, staring at the strange mare with bewilderment in his bloodshot brown eyes.
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