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The wind wailed throughout the rocky tors of the ramshead range, and nothing was to be seen except the great wedge-tail eagle soaring in a high arc above the lands. The skies were clear and cold, and the hazy cirrus hastened to show their faces no more. The wailing of the wind caused her to stir, the lithe cream filly tossing her head toward the skies, an half-uttered noise the only sound to break the stifling silence. She stepped forward cautiously, her slender limbs graceful, and her hard hooves making hardly an indent upon the earth, for she was the daughter of the wind, and trained to be invisible. Men would surely hunt her for her cream and silver coat, for she was so much more noticable in the wild herds than bays, blacks or even greys. She had been taught be her sire, Thowra, the wind to become silent and invisible as she could when danger was nearby. Her silvered mane fluttered daintly over her arched neck, her proud stride taking her to the utmost point of the rocky outcrop, where she was left to remain still, the wind rippling through her mane. |