When we’d come off those gut wrenching heights, I’ve never been so happy to return to a nonexistent elevation. After kissing the ground and many hours later, the mountains are behind us (so are the unpleasant memories.) Fear is washed away by the warm beams of undiluted light that gently stroke my dancing, vibrant tendrils and caress my bright, sleek lavender. In full sun, this frostfall coat reveals a subtly change. Over these warming weeks, it turns from dull to bright – a sleek residue permits me a light jacket, thin enough to endure the day and thick enough to insulate me when the sun vanishes over the horizon. As we enter the wasteland, my eyes are treated to a delightful surprise that these cool lips can’t suppress. An freed grin stretches either corner of my face apart. Amazing... I could hardly recognize the steppe. Nature would never cease to surprise me; she could take a desolate place and make it unrecognizable. The thaw reveals a different sort of beauty – glorious in its own wild way. A short while ago, this frosty land was nothing but bleak -- snow blinding flurries and frosty temperatures frayed and ravaged.

But today (and for a little while down the road) the sky isn’t foredooming; instead it is flawless, an unblemished sapphire. Brighter than the feathers of a blue bird. Gone are the dreaded ashy clouds that brought ice to needle my body and damp sludge to tangle my feet. As we walk across this reborn wasteland, my cool lips can’t suppress a toothy awed grin. Nearly every inch of turf has undergone a transformation. With the absence of snow and abundance of moisture, bits of strangled green are poking out from the topsoil and courageous, young stems with petal faces brave the cool air for their glimpse of sunlight.  

Suddenly the brisk, enjoyable atmospheres is interrupted by a faint, shrill cry carried on the breeze. I spare a wary glance to the claw-footed male I’d met on the mountainside. My temples pitch in vexation, invisible fingers reach for him -- attempting to bridge our minds, “Hear that?” I ask, while the shout resounds until it becomes a whisper...a memory. Turning into the gale, my optics and ears scan for the source…it doesn’t take long before our walk in the anticipated direction uncovers a trio of faded shapes. From this great distance they appear boxy, stunted against the bare horizon. I quicken from his side, naturally assuming my mountaineer friend would follow along. Upon closer inspection, it becomes painfully apparent that all three are juveniles. Their collection includes a hybrid colt, (older than the others) …. a thin calf and infant filly. “They made it all the way out here…alone?” I frown, treading upon confusion and mild concern. Reaching for my magic, I struggle with the attempt to form a link between each of them. “What happened?” Gems drift around, scanning for signs of another adult.