Redsand Canyon I will give you the world, child, if you prove you can take it.

Down in to the heart of the mountains she went, along a path she did not know, until the green was replaced by golden sand and red rock and all around her was a cage of stoneworks. Thinking it would lead her back to Silverbirch at the very least—maybe one of those hulking young stallions who she had witnessed in their fight—Winterfox did not dally; but the path only wound deeper and deeper in to the earth, or so it felt.

Fancy sought out the bay mare, keen to keep an additional set of hooves in with the herd. She preferred to keep all herdmates in her sight and while Winterfox had not yet been pledged, she sought to remedy the situation swiftly. It would not be safe for the mare on her own; not with winter coming. 

She whickered, hoping to catch the mare's attention as she hastened her pace to catch up with the bay. She meandered, perhaps intentionally, further from the hollow and down into a canyon.

The stranger's voice did meet her ears, and she was cognizant of being followed, but in that addled way of the elderly Winterfox did not heed as quickly as she ought to. There was a span of time where she plum forgot to turn around; she wasn't mindful of her surroundings either, and only came back to herself when she caught the lip of some slate with the corner of a hoof, and the clattering of her quickstep grounded her.

She looked around, perplexed about where she was. The earth was red here! Not the shade of bay or buckskin she might have considered with the word, and not quite as dark as blood, but still something between. The ground was disintegrated, like a beachside, and there were clusters of dry yellow grasses prickling upward from the soil. She moseyed towards one of these but upon grabbing for them, the sharp tine-like quality of the hardgrass made her pull back.

Movement of something more familiar drew a watery glance. There, finally, Winterfox saw one of the women from the men's competition. You are so far from your herd! The elder cajoled, absent-minded about her own situation.

Fancy halted, tossing a knotted strand of forelock behind one ear with a flick of her head so she could angle one eye toward the elder. She hardly looked concerned for her own welfare, which spoke of either bravery or confusion. Perhaps the bay had simply seen it all, and found some way to live at peace with the prospect that she might die any minute. For Fancy, life was still an everyday fight.

As are you. She said. Though she had not been initiated, watching the woman wander from the herd had been a curious thing. We had thought you might join us.

Join? Ah, her head bobbed a few times as she walked, and then she was distracted by a weed poking up through the dirt. Sniffing at it proved pointless, so she lipped it, and came away unsatisfied.

I doubt the menfolk would find me palatable, she remarks next, lifting her head to look upon this lead mare, this woman who seemed to proud and so focused. It was sweet of her to come looking, thought Winterfox.

And I suppose - here she looked at the canyon walls around them both as if for the first time, I have a habit of wandering. Doesn't that make me a liability to you and yours?

At least she was a little bit self-aware (for now).