Zanna is: furious.

She doesn't want to go skiing. She wants to go riding. Her mother has informed her that her cousins have horses, but Zanna pointed out that if her cousins came to visit she wouldn't want them on her horse, and why should she expect then to feel any different? Mom's just making dumb excuses because she wants to go skiing. And see her dumb family. Zanna hates family more than anything in the world.

That said, off they go (in a bit) to visit, in their dumb white rental car, so she can beg her cousins to let her ride and the rest of the family can have a fun visit. Terrible. She hates this place already.

This place is ambivalent towards her.

. . . . Actually.

It kind of feels like it might hate her too.  Or something might, coming from - that direction.

She looks out the window. Probably it's her brain playing tricks on her, but did she - hear something?

It's windy enough outside to be lightly rattling the panes.  This place isn't very well insulated and she can feel the cold creeping in, standing this close to the uncurtained window.

The view outside is actually quite nice, and would be even if not framed by such inadequate accommodations.  A snowy field stretches out, bordered by pine trees with a barn in the distance.  The wind sends swirls of snow glittering across the field, forming flourishes and miniature tornadoes.  It looks particularly dramatic in the evening light, the visual interest doubled by the twisting shadows.

After one particularly strong gust clears, Zanna notices a horse standing in the middle of the field.  Its white coat makes it somewhat hard to see against the snow, but if she squints she can definitely make out its majestic, elegant form.

As she watches, the horse turns its head, almost as if it's looking right at her.  It's always hard to tell with animals that don't have binocular vision.

The feeling of unease and being hated increases.

Horse?

She wonders where it's staying. Whether it'll survive the winter in whatever cave it's found. What it's eating - it doesn't look bony, it's sleek and magnificent. Maybe it's... free... range...

She can't shake the feeling of dread.

She draws the curtains and heads out to the main area of their suite. 

"Hey, you're out early," Morty says. "Thought you'd be... I dunno, hexing us, in there."

"Be nice to your sister," Mom says distractedly. "Zanna, you all unpacked?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "Are we going to visit your brother now?"

"You know you can call him Uncle Nick - anyway, yeah, in a couple of minutes, you can get your shoes on."

She does so. "If I wanted to put a hex on you," she mutters to her brother, "I'd need some of your blood. Since I haven't taken any from you, you can assume that I wasn't hexing you."

And, after a few minutes more, the Lenhardt family make their way down to the lodge's common area. For dinner. Because they've been driving for hours, and the last meal they had was lunch at a Cracker Barrel on the highway.