Hasan's new resolve to become more involved with the goings-on of the herd was proving enlightening, but challenging. The loss of his sight had taught him to use his other senses in ways he never had, and they had become as sharp as well-honed weapons, but there was only so much even they could tell him on a day-to-day basis. Oftentimes information reached him notably slower than it might have for a sighted horse: such as the disappearance of his sparring partner, Amberlyn.

With her scent still lingering among the shrubs and branches of the Forest, it had taken a while for him to notice he had not heard her voice echoing through the trees lately. With breeding season just having finished, however, he had put little thought into it: he knew as well as anyone that hormonal mares were prone to erratic behaviors. Perhaps Amberlyn was squirreled away in some thicket with a lover, or the exact opposite: keeping well away from all men. The thought had made his lips quirk in a smile. He still did not quite understand the relations between the stallions and mares of the Forest—up until recently, he had taken no interest in such matters whatsoever—but he knew that Amberlyn had children, and could not blame her if she had no interest in bearing more. Hasan had raised one son, so he knew the work involved, even without taking into consideration the toil pregnancy and birth took on a mare's body.

It was when Hasan's mind turned to sparring that he finally noticed. Sparring was something he had been keeping at for several seasons now, and it had built his confidence tremendously. He had been slow and bumbling at first, but Amberlyn's patient tutelage had helped him put muscle back on his bones and taught him techniques for fending off a foe based only on what he could hear, smell, and feel. Though he had never been a great fighter, even when he was sighted, there was at least a chance now that he could hold his own if he was ever attacked, and even the prospects of navigating the terrain of the Forest and engaging with others in non-hostile situations seemed less problematic.

But when Hasan sought Amberlyn out to see if she fancied another spar, on a day when it had warmed just enough for the icicles on the branches to drip in a constant pitter-patter, he could find the mare nowhere.

And then he heard the call.

By the time he reached the source, his ears pricked and nostrils flaring to assess his surroundings, he realized he was not the first to arrive: Baba Yaga's familiar scent was there, putting him instantly at ease. Hasan settled a short distance behind her, in what he hoped was a present-but-not-obtrusive position. Then the second scent reached him, and he straightened a little with interest. She smelled of salt, as though she was freshly arrived, and Hasan found himself coming closer, pulling up beside Baba Yaga's flank so that he was part of the conversation.

"Amberlyn?"