There was an implicit joy that came with being home again. One that spurred her hooves to racing across the Inlet with wild abandon, leaving even her precious baby sister behind on occasion. Sometimes Lakota simply couldn't help herself. As much as she loved her new extended family, there was a part of her that would always be wild and belong more to the Inlet than it ever would them.

Only Ironclad had a stronger hold over her at this point, and even he was far too busy with his other mares to share more than a passing glance for her. Being near him in the fall had made her stomach feel funny, and she'd had strange and intrusive thoughts that made her feel icky from inside out. It had led to her almost always avoiding him unless he was surrounded by a group, and she hated it. Even though she knew that he was proud of her when he wasn't nearby, it was nothing like being at his side to hear the praise from his lips or to see the way he looked at her as if she wasn't less than.

Not that Kvothe made her feel lesser, not on purpose. But there was a clear difference in the way that she treated the daughter of her blood and the daughter she'd been forced to accept. And even her own daughter hadn't been enough to keep her around. As much as Lakota wanted to worry like Ironclad did... a part of her (a part she hated and refused to voice aloud) chalked it up to something mothers just did sometimes.

Sometimes they were good like Ysabel... and other times they just weren't.

But she didn't want to break Ironclad's heart any further, and so she kept the observations to herself. Today's path took her back toward the strange elk she'd seen yesterday. She'd meant to investigate and figure out what had killed it, but she'd gotten so woozy last time that she'd ended up heading back toward water to rest. Now, fed, watered, and awake, she moved with purpose.

It took her a little longer to find it this time, and if truth be told, by the time she stuck her nose close enough that her mind finally registered the rank smell of decomposing flesh, she'd quite forgotten why she was doing it in the first place. The yearling reeled backward with a disgusted snort and stumbled off to the side, her gaze rising to the large reddish figure disappearing into the trees.

"Waitttt," she slurred, stumbling after it, some urgency in her tone. She blinked hard, trying to sharpen the fuzzy edges to no avail, and just decided to call out for the figure. Obviously, it was Kvothe. What other large reddish horse would be wandering about the Inlet? "Kvothe, come back!"

She rushes forward at an awkward gait, stumbling over her own hooves after the double dose of toxin. It is only when she is nearly upon the male that his musk sharpens enough to activate her danger sense and she slides to an inelegant halt. With suspicion and not enough concern, she pops her head up with ears flattened and offers accusingly, "you're not my mom."