Lone Star Mountain today, you were far away

The wolf appeared to melt in to the loam.

The mare considered the power imbalance of her weighty self versus the smaller creature who had not yet done her harm; how easy it would be to step forward and to trample them. One less wolf and so one less hungry belly intent on chasing the fillies and colts that were bound to come along.

She took a step closer, and then another. The wolf tried to convey something but Winterfox did not understand the question, but by the time she got close enough to reach out with her snout towards them—a bold choice even for her—any darker thoughts had evaporated.

She reached for one of the golden-furred ears. Her nostrils flared. She played with the fur there, and atop the wolf's head, as if she were tending to one of her children. They were softer than what was expected. Different from the wooly layer of a newborn foal; but reminiscent enough that Winterfox felt her own kind of comfort in the contact.

Then she withdrew. Her chin tucked and she shook out her mane across her neck with a jostle, and turned to go.