The chill in the air attempted to nip at his painted hide as he wandered through his new home. With his meaty build and thick winter coat Jack Frost didn’t stand a chance on touching the stallion’s skin and bones. No, Rilke was designed for this cold weather, winter was more like a cool summer breeze than any kind of hindrance.

He thought back to his previous home, a land mountainous and lush, full of sheltering trees and nutrient rich grass. His herd was not obnoxiously large, he had nothing to prove by building a herd more than what was necessary to carry on his genes and offer protection by their numbers, and he certainly had his favorites. The main mare who had his heart had died in childbirth, taking their unborn colt with her. Despite the wisdom he had gained from his older years, his heart still broke, and he walked away, unable to bear living without her. While he had been wandering on his own, he had stumbled and fell into a river, knocking himself out on a tree that had fallen into the rushing water. Next thing he knew, he woke up in this new land, and decided he would try to make a fresh start.

That’s when he heard somebody cry out, it sounded feminine and instinctively he hastened to protect whomever it was rather than drive them away. Following where he thought he heard the stranger he bellowed out, “Hello?” as his hooves sank into the layers of snow and dirt underneath, throwing it in clumps behind him as he cantered between the barren trees. It didn’t take long for the scent of the femme to make its way across his nostrils, and he homed in on her. He saw the fallen equine in the snow and he dashed quickly over, lowering his muzzle to check for warmth, for life. He felt a pulse and his worry lessened, but it still hung heavy. Despite not knowing her, he couldn’t bear any more loss. “Wake up,” he said gently, nuzzling her cheek as he tried to do just that.