Honeyed Pasture inviting the monsters

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The wind shifted through the trees, and by doing so it began to pull his own scent around. Nechako lost the aroma of milk upon the pasture. It was so fleeting that he wondered — had it been a figment in his mind? Had he mistaken something else for that sweet scent? But it was winter, and he knew through exploration that the flowers were all wilted. Now all he could smell was the cold of the snow, the freshness, so with one last look around he prepared to double back. Something was unsettling about this place.

And then, a sound. A crunching, a shifting — maybe only snow falling off a heavy bough above — and then he saw her. Rising from the ice without any grace, moving without finess or speed or anything that marked her as desirable to the stallion, came a wolf.

She spoke, but the words meant nothing to him. He was unafraid of her, because Nechako did not know what she was. He breathed a great breath and filled his lungs. She smelled vaguely similar to the trickster, the coyote. Larger, though. A predator, surely. But her movements were sluggish and she seemed uncomfortable — if she was heavy with milk, then that would mean she was a mother.

Nechako did not know what this discovery meant. Was he safe, because she was fattened up and useless? Or was he in grave danger from her companions? Nechako began to slowly lower his head, but he elongated his neck, and took a bold step towards her as if to make some grand point — and then he called out loudly, braying and lifting his lip, watching the wolf as if he were ready to charge headlong in to her. Truthfully, he didn't know what to do, and was merely trying to dissuade her.
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