The stallion seemed completely at a loss, and Osceola could not blame him. This was not his child, nor his herd member, and quite possibly his first encounter with any of it. He did have a young face, the more Osceola thought about it. She supposed she should just be grateful he hadn’t went running for the hills the moment she had snapped at him. With a soft grunt of effort, the mare turned away from him and moved very slowly and stiffly towards the trees. The muscles along her belly were very tender, making any sort of movement uncomfortable to the point of hurting.
When the blue roan mare finally reached the thick stand of trees, she huddled in the midst of them to get away from as much wind as possible. Ears turned back and rump towards what little bit she could feel, it was at least warmer here than it had been in the open. She guessed she should thank the stallion, though he had not really done much.
“You never did give me your name.” she said instead, turning an eye over to him, though her voice was still somewhat strained. “My name is Osceola. I’m from the Cove.” The dark mare offered, trying for any sort of distraction from her current predicament.
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