Hrist didn’t even say goodbye. She only snarled insults at her brother before the painted stallion had disappeared down the mountainside from her view. Good riddance. The Peak had too many stallions here anyways. He was grown, he didn’t need to be stinking up the place and being a leech like the rest of them. Spinning away, she lunged up the steep trail, her breath fogging before her muzzle with each stride. Her powerful, long stride was able to carry her upwards quickly and her stamina offered her the strength to make it near the top.


When she stopped, her blue-green eyes looking out across the view offered from the mountaintop, Hrist let out a sigh. It offered her no relief. She wasn’t sure what would.


The wind that cut across the mountain picked up some of the fresh snow from the drifts, making it dance and swirl in the air before being carried away. Flaring her nose, the young mare caught the scent of another with her son. Not quite a stallion scent from Clayton, Hrist wasn’t bothered by the youth. With a huff, she turned and followed the scent until she spotted mother and son.


“I’ve heard Tinuvel is the closest to being like the Peak.” She offered to the conversation.