even though it's far from heaven; maybe this could be my haven -any

[Serafine]

The mare didn't count in years; she counted in seasons. The passing of seasons was easier to remember, and especially the winters. There were wet winters, cold winters, dry winters. Winters in which food was scarce, winter where the main goal was to seek warmth. All winters had one thing in common: Survival. It wasn't the easiest season, but it had hardened Serafine. Her steps onto the Field were secure and determined. Other than survival, she had a goal. A fight isn't over until it's won. Today she would continue a fight that had started several winters ago, even though the other party wasn't aware of that. Maybe didn't even know about her existence. She wouldn't call it revenge, for it was not. It was merely a need to know what had happened all those years ago, to be able to form her own side of the story instead of having to believe in rumors and ghosts of the past. This was both an ending and a new beginning, and the mare was torn between excitement and dread as her legs stopped moving and looked around the white plain.

The Field. How many winters since she had left this part of the world? Eight? And now she was back, deliberately on the Field, knowing she could be claimed wherever. For Serafine, it was the only right choice. Fate had brought her here, and fate would make her go to the right area. If she was lucky: If not, it was just another lesson she had to learn before she'd be ready. After the short pause, the silver buckskin started moving again in a slow trot, knowing that if she stood still for too long her muscles would freeze. Her ears moved back and forth, searching for another living soul in this otherwise deserted area. She could only hope it'd be soon, for if she didn't find any warmer place to be able to rest, she'd truly be in trouble.