Lone Star Mountain today, you were far away

The shifting of her body could be heard as she pressed on through snow, hooves crunching those icy shoots which previously had been an entertaining snack for the mare. She did not consider the threat of the wolf any longer. It had many scents, yes, and it had not moved once it had spotted her, and it did not chase her now, so all of these things gave Winterfox a sense of security. A foolish notion—she was still prey—but one that would mean a leisurely exodus from the moment rather than the thunderous type, and vastly preferred.

Eventually the sound of the mare was swallowed by the pine forest.

The little wolf was left alone again.