The seasons had changed once again. With those changes came something Baba Yaga had never expected from herself, let alone this early in her life. Watching her chestnut draft daughter move through the forest with a life to her that Baba Yaga could remember from a different day, the grey shire cross let a smile mark her face. It had been a long time since she had been around a young one and it showed as her hooves lifted off of the ground and moved after her daughter in a trot that matched the pace of her speeding daughter. A laugh fell from her lips as her daughter gave a squeal and bucked along an open area of meadow.

Moving with her child, the draft let her eyes flick to hear various things before her hooves came to an abrupt halt. Jerking her head towards the treeline, the Forest lead blew out a snort from her flared nostrils. Her whole body stood at attention, as if whatever she had heard could be dangerous. It was hard to tell exactly, considering that the wind was not bringing her any scents nor was it really letting her have as good of hearing as she would like, but the draft was on high alert. The Forest had gained a few foals this season at least from what she had noticed. With this being said however, the draft mare shifted to be between her daughter and the distant something that had caused her to be uneasy.