Her steps dwindled down like charred ash kindling. The winter sky is wide and the moon's full gaze blanketed her bay form in a silver sheen. Her face is lifted upward to swallow the stars so they may return to her eyes. She is hungry to feel again even if they are pangs of loss and whispers of sweet nothings against a cold heart that was locked in a rusted cage.
Elk is nothing short of extraordinarily plain from her lack of pretty traits to a simple bay coat, stained with cherry and blood varnish. But she is whole, and she is new, and the prospect made her dizzy and even a touch of giddiness somewhere deep in the pit of her belly. The woman begins to walk once more with only the crisp silence of a deep winter's embrace to keep her company.
Small frosted plumes eagerly form as she exhales with high knees in the deeper parts of snow from the drifts brought on by the early afternoon winds. She is thankful they have relocated back to their homes in the hills and left a smooth pale surface all around her. The dull ache in her lungs remind her that she should seek shelter soon and the muscles of her hips and withers begin to join together to protest her movement so she begins to look for a place to rest, a warmth of solitude and heavy pine scent to lull her to sleep.