Cerosi’s low-set tail snaps in the wind behind her as she gallops out of the Forest. She keeps her ears ticked back, her attention far more focused on the colt running behind her and the potential danger following them than on where she is headed. It’s only when the trees abruptly open into the Prairie that she slows to a canter and turns to Håkon.

“Keep running,” she tells him sternly, and as he passes her, she drops to a trot, and circles back to face the trees.

A short distance away, the russet colt stops as well, and turns to watch his mother. She watches the trees intently, scarred flanks heaving, sterling mane falling in a mess of locks across her neck. Nothing moves within the trees; no bears come to follow them.

Cerosi turns back toward the colt. She trots through the tall Prairie grass, her stern yellow eyes prompting the boy to take off again playfully. Any fear he might have felt toward the bear in the Forest was empathetic; he does not understand what they just escaped. He was afraid because his mother was afraid, and now that the danger has passed, there are no lingering shadows of fear. Håkon scrabbles joyfully through the grass, his mother following behind, notably less enthusiastic.

When they see the pale stallion cresting a hill towards them, Cerosi freezes. She hisses for her son, but he is already on his way toward the adult male, his innocence evident in his confident deer-like bounds through the grass. “Hullo!” he chirps, ignoring the thunder of Cerosi’s hooves and her inevitable wrath as she races to catch up to him and whisk him away from the stranger.