It is a chilly spring morning as I meander across the Throat's now-lush landscape, and oh, I've never been more happy to have chosen to live here. Grass is everywhere, and I just want to gorge myself on it after a long winter of near-starvation. Well, near-starvation by my standards, anyway; I am used to rich foods, warmth and stability, so surviving my first winter in the wild is one hell of an achievement for me. My sleeker sides and new slimline figure demonstrate the effects the season has had on me, but I'm alive and that is all that matters. Come next winter I may be better prepared - this time, I had been too busy trying to come to terms with freedom and the wilderness, with magic and unicorns and a blessed lack of humanity.

So I move through the Throat at a steady amble, my jaws hungrily ripping great chunks of lush spring grass from the ground. As hungry as I am, though, my intention isn't to eat my way through the entire Throat - no, I have a far more important mission. Ever since I helped save the black pegasus with my herb knowledge, I have grown even more determined to fufill my duties as a healer of this herd. I need to do something with my life. This is my calling; I save lives. Perhaps it's what I was born to do. I can't fight, I'm no politician or diplomat, I can't even do what every animal craves and pass my genes down to the next generation, but I can heal. So heal I will.

I  am looking for herbs to keep and stash, should I ever need them to help somebody. It isn't as good as having a healing-related magic, of course,  but as Shadow could testify, it did just fine in a pinch. She and her foal are alive because of me, and that's the greatest thing I have ever done in my life. I soon locate a crop of the raspberry leaves I'd used to stop the black mare bleeding out, and I quickly chop a few strands and stash them under a nearby rock. Pondering, I wonder if there is some way a magical Helovian could create me a bag to keep my herbs in, perhaps one that hangs from my halter....oh, I have really discovered my passion now! ""

I become aware of another presence, and lift my head to see who it is. It's a mare, unicorn, grazing delicately nearby. She is a pretty thing, if a little on the skinny side. Perhaps she, like myself, has suffered from a long, harsh winter. I stop my herb-tucking momentarily to offer her a warm smile, my gentle brown eyes fixing on her as I dip my head in a friendly nod. I make it a mission of mine to meet more herdmates, because if I'm going to survive in a herd with these wild horses, I need to learn to interact with them and their queer ways. My body language is none-confrontational, with my ears rammed forwards and my head held at a level that doesn't appear dominant. "Hello there," I say, making sure my voice is cheery. "I'm Badger, a healer here. What's your name?"

My attention is then grabbed by the approach of another mare, this one black like myself save for the tip of her mane and tail, and the cobwebs across her back. Her markings are curious, and I find myself scrutinising them closely. Some bizarre antelope-like creature comes towards me and sniffs every plant I pluck herbs from. Because I'm polite, I don't aim a kick at it - chances are, it is bonded to the cobweb-mare, and she is probably a herdmate. Besides, it's not really doing any harm as long as it only sniffs plants I've already reaped herbs from. If it tries to nibble on a plant I'm headed towards, I may just have to dirty look it or beefy-chest it out of the way.

I notice that the black mare moves closer to the pale one rather than me, and I wonder if they are friends or if the black is simply mistrusting of men. After all, without looking between my legs, it is hard for most people to know I am not a stallion, even if my lack of muscle and arrogant testosterone-fuelled swagger can be enough to give it away to certain sharp individuals. I have only limited experience around stallions - and mostly I find them to be asshats who could do with the same snippity-snip treatment I received - and truly marvel at the way some of them treat mares. Heavens, if there's one good thing about my 'condition' (which is how I choose to refer to it), it is that I can speak to a woman as a friend, not as somebody to impregnate. On the down side, it leaves me stuck between two groups, fitting into neither - mares don't properly see me as 'one of the girls', and stallions mock or bully me, leaving me only other geldings for company. So far, Helovia is sans geldings, probably due to the absence of scissor-happy humans.

But perhaps I'm reading too far into it, and the black woman is simply more friendly towards her own gender. Still, I smile at her. "More pleasant than winter, certainly. Might I ask your name, miss?" Again, my voice is neutral and calm, my head tilted slightly with polite curiosity.

I follow the first mare's gaze towards the flock of birds following her. "Funny, the chicks usually follow me," I joke, but it falls flat on my lips. I can almost hear the tumbleweed. If I was a muscle-bound, swaggering stud of studliness then perhaps that jest would actually be funny, but alas, I am not, and it is not. "They don't, actually. Forget I said that." I force a smile, feeling my skin heat beneath my fur. See, this is why I usually choose to lurk awkwardly away from society - my unfunny jokes and trying-too-hard aura ensure that I always struggle to make friends.

She introduces herself as Sheba, and I dip my head in recognition. The black cobweb-mare adds her name, as well as that of her companion, and they both receive a nod as well. The tiniest grin of amusement flickers at the corner of my muzzle at the antelope's name, and a nostalgic mist floats across my eyes. One of the humans at the stable had had a spotted dog called Pongo. Goodness knows where they got that name from. She suggests sharing our healing knowledge, and reveals she is of the same rank. My ears prick and my head lifts, immediately interested.

She answers Sheba's question for me as well, and I nod my agreement. "Yep, that's what I'm doing. With recent events, you can never have too many herbs stored!" I am referring, of course, to the recent Bear God fight. "I would definitely love to share what we know!" She turns, displaying her mane, which drips with herbs. "Ooh! Which ones have you got there?" My enthusiasm makes me bounce on my hooves as I resist the temptation to stick my face into Morrigan's mane to examine her chosen herbs. Instead I gesture to a small pile of my own, gathered near Pongo. "They're the leaves of a raspberry plant. They can help clot the blood - I used them recently on a mare who had a difficult birth, to stem her bleeding." I'm still insufferably proud of that, and thank the humans for their knowledge of alternative medicine.