With summer hastily cooled on Tinuvel, Sinaet spent cloudy days among the trees. She hoped somehow that the wind wouldn't move so easily through the leaves and underbrush. The ideal thing would be for her to find somewhere insulated, which had worked so far in the copse Sinaet was now tucked into. She was beneath a tall, spindling alpine whose top overshadowed much of the surrounding wood.

The stone-faced mare stood there still, silent as the grave, even when something large rustled in the trees beyond. Her seafoam eyes lingered on the brush cooly, though something -- instinct perhaps -- warned her. Comfort tried to lure her to complacency, assuming the sound to be from a deer, a herd member -- though whose might take her a moment to remember, if at all -- or something else plausible. And yet. . .

Chocolate ears twist back against her poll in an almost habitual manner, much like the seemingly permanent frown on the mare's pale lips. It wasn't an unusal disposition, but the season was having its influence on her. Sinaet's skin tingled with anticipation. Her eyes, fixed upon the wall of foliage, waited for something, someone to appear.