Lone Star Mountain today, you were far away

It was unwise to travel far from the herd. Winterfox was wise, but she was also forgetful. She knew not to go far—and still her legs tended to keep moving.

It was slow going, but it was going. The momentum got even slower as the angle of the earth worked against her; when her joints could take no more, she stopped.

That was how the elder mare found herself partway up a mountain path, nibbling at whatever bits of grass poked through a veneer of snow. They crunched because of the ice that glazed them, and she found that satisfying. She did not yet notice the little wolf or how it cried.