To say that she was having an existential crisis would've been an overstatement.
However, walking in a forest pelted in the remains of moles would've been unpleasant even for a carnivore sapient. The young rocs had eaten most of it, but red splotches covered every hard surface and, here and there, bits of meat or skin could be seen, and there were little bones everywhere.
It was one of those moments when her hat came in handy. She walked with it covering most of her field of vision, not really needing to see anything but the ground immediately in front of her.
Winona was in a different frame of mind altogether, stopping every few meters to eat a bone noisily. Silly Orange hat horse, she thought, wasting all this perfectly good food.
There was a barely heard tingle but they ignored it, fed up with snapping to attention at it.
-º-
Lentils brewed over an intense fire as the moon reached its lowest. Grazing just wasn't an option in some situations.
Winona chewed a bone far too small to resist it for too long, and after a moment walked away nonchalantly for another one.
After half an hour of boredom and staring at the pot, she rummaged her bags for a book.
-º-
The tent hidden between bushes, Applejack ate the remains of the lentils while she read Mountain Mist.
Apparently, the book was about a zebra who was either a martial artist, a maid, or one disguising as the other seeking revenge or something against someone who had murdered or given birth to (The words were similar, and this was the first time she read rather than heard any of them) a demon under the maid/martial artist's service, which had let her crippled or immortal and angsty because she had promised her husband -who seemed to be a warrior- to die with him, which was, to Applejack, a really strange promise to make. Right now she was reading a scene that was either the zebra making love to the murderer or trying to kill him (Probably both), which included many a broken table.
Reading books in languages you didn't quite understand was an exercise of creativity and patience.
There was a small clack, and her gaze moved to the now empty plate.
She put it in a corner and peeked out from the tent and spent a moment hearing, wanting to be completely sure.
Nope. No wolf flower, no tingle, no nothing. She cleaned a small path between the leaves for good measure.
She called Winona, closed the tent, and slept.