Thunder Strikes

Far from her snowy glade, Kamilah felt bare in the open grassland without the protection of a single tree. For as far as she could see, nothing grew above her hock, and only a few untended strands managed to grow above her cannon. For a great while the roan stood on the border of the lands, raking her gaze across the horizon for any signs of danger, her head slowly turning from side to side. She did not live this long by charging forward blindly, no matter how lush and tantalizing the greens may appear. Though the lightness in her belly reminded the mare that such food was a requirement, not a choice, and slowly the mare made her way past the border and into the open grasslands, her ears perked and her head high as she continued to feel an uneasiness with the new land. The summer sun burned against her flanks as she ventured forward, the light hum of the insects played like a entertainment band for her dinner, and soon Kamilah felt more at ease as she came to a stop. With a last turn of her ears, Kamilah allows the pull of her stomach to drag her head down to the ground as she began to graze. The snow frosted tendrils of her mane cascading down her neck like a waterfall, a few strands curling between her ears and shielding her gaze from the harsh beams of the sun.