Dawnlark Plains i find a glimpse of us,

There was a niggling itch that presented itself to Sunday Morning that was as good an answer to any question as to what prompted her leaving as any. She experienced, but days ago, the beginnings of great discomfort. Today she was on the tail end of it, her final day of proestrus, and as she ranged through the Plains she was keenly aware of it. Normally amicable and friendly, Sunday Morning found she wanted nothing to do with anybody. Fortunately she had not run into any problems with this. Though there were signs of life within the territories she canvassed, it seemed most (like she herself) were passing through.

Sunday paused near a hillock, thinking herself secluded enough to try and relieve some pain. Settling onto her haunches, Sunday lifted a leg to begin to attend to the part of her that looked angriest. It was bloody, but not bleeding; grooming herself helped, some. The snow here became stained with red, but she hoped it would melt as she gathered herself to all fours once again and began to press ahead. Now with a sense of interesting purpose.

She was looking for something. What, she did not know. Sunday Morning suspected that when she saw it, she would know it.