Hasan stood quietly at the edge of the small clearing and waited, his ears turning this way and that as he listened for any sign of an approach above the din of the rain. He stiffened when a twig snapped and wet ground squelched beneath hooves; a moment later, the breeze brought him the heavy scent of a soaked Boudicca. He pressed his lips together, waiting, but no others arrived behind her.

"Hello, Boudicca," he greeted the yearling flatly, pointing his face in her direction. His amber-green eyes focused on the air just beyond her left shoulder. In the gloom, where there was no strong light or shadow to guide him, it was difficult for him to make out exactly where objects were.

"Where is Mam?" the filly asked.

Hasan's stomach swirled with impatience and discomfort. He had hoped to resolve the matter of Baba Yaga's disappearance before the children discovered she was gone: especially Baba Yaga's own. He was also not overly familiar with Boudicca, and knew he would have to choose his words carefully.

"She must be out for a stroll," he replied, injecting forced lightness into his tone. "Boudicca, do you happen to know where your father is? I was hoping to speak to him."