There is something about the new lands that is incredibly intriguing to the white-laced blue mare. Something indefinable that draws her every time. She had been here before, of course, but she had hardly been here to admire the scenery. Of course, she is not necessarily here to admire the scenery today either, but rather to see who else might have discovered these new lands for themselves.
For a time, she enjoys her solitude. She enjoys meandering through tall trees and ducking under low-slung branches. She enjoys the tickle of spring grass against her white hocks, the sweet scent of new leaves mingled with the sharper scent of pine and to cooling aroma of water overlaying everything. She enjoys the occasional ray of sunshine that touches her back, the sylph-like breeze that slips almost unnoticed through the intermingled trunks.
She continues on this way until she reaches the sentinel oak that stands alone, apart from the rest. Her gaze rests on that tree, slowly traveling the length of its trunk. Some days, she feels like the tree, alone and untouchable, the silent watcher of the world. She is not often given to maudlin thoughts, but perhaps recent events had stirred her equilibrium more than she cares to admit.
With a sigh, she turns, gaze scanning the copse of trees not too far off. She allows her sight to expand, to creep slowly through the trees unnoticed and untouchable. An invisible spy in this scurrying woodchuck or that fluttering robin. She allows the world to come to her in a way that has become almost more familiar to her than her own sight. She has nothing particular in mind for this hunt, merely a reconnaissance. A collection of information, some of which might potentially be useful.
This is her life after all - the silent sentinel. This is what she had made it, by choice. There is no turning back now.
@[Spink]