She’s been alone for a season or two now, and Esther has finally settled back into it. Oren had parted with a kind word, but no promise to ever see her again. She can’t exactly blame her son for seeking something else out - he’s only ever wanted to belong, and she never really offered that. When SIgurdr disappeared, she didn’t stick around, dragging Oren off from land to land. He had begged and cried, wanting to wait,
certain that his father would return. But Esther knew better, knew not to waste her life waiting on an errant stallion.
She’s back on the Crossing Isle for the winter, idling away in the Meadow. She’d hidden well during the Fall, made it out unscathed and free of the attentions of any errant stallion. But with snow and cold weather on the horizon, she is feeling listless. Lonely. Her mind cannot stop tripping over and over her son, wondering if Oren is safe, if he has found what it is he so desperately sought all through his youth.
Someone approaches, hooves crunching over the snow. She looks up, blue eyes squinting against the bright snow. With the sun in her face she can’t really make out who it is that draws close - that’s no excuse to be rude. Esther offers a polite smile, and shifts so that the hole she had stomped in the iced-over stream isn’t blocked. “Hello,” she greets, lifting her head to gaze at the stranger. “Are you keeping warm?”