year, too.”

            “Kept you?” I asked. She nodded.

            “Yes. We’ll all be here until every foal has been born, and then he’ll let those who’ve foaled leave. Mothers of stillborn foals, or those whose foals die shortly, are kept until they produce a foal.” Carissa looked at me sympathetically.

            “You’re Spirit’s daughter, Brooke, so he might not let you go anyway.”

            Spirit looked out longingly over his herd. His mate, Rain, was grazing, with their new daughter nearby. After Brooke’s disappearance, she had gone into early labor, and their baby, Dakota, was small. No doubt Night was telling her stories of his and Brooke’s adventures, their first race that had ended in Brooke almost being bitten by a snake. Their venture into the forest, with Autumn, Night’s mother, close behind, where they were gone all day. They’d come back covered in mud and burrs, but very happy. Their many swims in the river over the summer.

            Spirit could almost cry. His first baby, his daughter with Rain, Night’s best friend, too, was gone. They had no idea where she was, and she could be gone forever. He had been training Night hard, to take his place someday. He regretted that Brooke would not be at the colt’s side. And, possibly, their foals, standing with them.

            The year passed horribly. The winter was harsh, bitter, and freezing, with less food than we’d had, which was close to none. My legs always hurt, and my huge belly pulled on my back, making it sore. I thought about being pregnant as little as possible, because I knew I wasn’t physically ready to have a foal, and it put more strain on my growing body than in the mares’ mature ones.

            Spring came, with slush instead of snow. I missed my family more than ever. Mares had foals in the slush, most of them dying. With only five of us remaining to foal, there were seven foals in the group. We were a total of at least twenty-five mares.

            At first, I barely noticed the rippling pains. Then they came harder. They sent me to the ground in pain, snorting and crying.

            Carissa was right there, with her filly. She reassured me as I pushed, eventually feeling something slide out of me. I turned, standing, but weakly, breathing heavily.

            My foal lay on the ground, and I licked her to start her breathing. My motherly instincts kicked in, and I helped her to her feet. She was snow-white, with black legs, and a black mane and tail.

            So, I named her Snow. Once on her feet, I helped her to nurse. It was a weird sensation, but it felt right. She was my baby.

            A few weeks later, Blood approached me. I stood guard, protecting my filly from him.

            “Let me see her, Brooke.” Reluctantly, I stepped aside, nuzzling Snow. He just looked at her. Finally he motioned me to follow him. I did so, touching my muzzle to Carissa’s briefly. He walked Snow and I outside of the clearing. He moved to the side, letting me see a dark, faint trail. “This leads straight to your home. Leave now, or you will never leave.”

            “What about Carissa?”

            “She will return to her home. You will tell nobody who I am or where you’ve been. Make up a story. If you tell about me, I will kill you.” And he walked back into the clearing. I nuzzled Snow’s mane.

            “Follow me.” I told her gently, and I looked down the path. Towards my home.

            I was going home.