Huff huff huff... huff huff huff... weather in the low 40's is not precisely balmy, but it's warm for winter, and Connor has loosened his jacket as he keeps warm trotting back and forth.
From the hay shed to the stables, there and back again. Each time, holding a small armful of fragrant hay that he stands on tip-toes to dump into the trough. ...Star's neck snakes out and she snatches the provender, the armload just about making one decent mouthful. Stormwake waits nearby, though if horses could roll their eyes, he may well have done so.
And, back for another load... trot trot trot.