He came for her.

Even as she told herself that she needed to be left alone, he seemed to sense her secret desire for contact in others. As much as she tried to play the recluse, she was still a social creature by nature. As she looked upon the stallion while he looked upon her, a moment of realization found her.

No matter how cruel to him she was, he always returned to her. Everytime she kicked or bit him, he pushed back into her, not fleeing as she had hoped -- as most stallions would. Most younger, inexperienced ones, anyway. He was not young, nor inexperienced. She wondered how many of his current scars had been from her. And he didn't look onto her with explicit desire, nor a hungering posessiveness. He had faced challenge for his home, and he had kept it. He was more than worthy.

A hot breath escaped her nose with a quick flare of her nostrils and she turned, approaching him this time, face to face. The warmth of her battered norse touched his, and she simply stood there a short while, feeling his breath and drinking in its scent.

It was comforting.

But Ragnfridr never stood idle for long; she quickly turned her head, snaking it aside and nipping lightly at his lips. It wasn't an aggressive gesture. Perhaps just a reminder of who she was, despite her passive stance and even affectionate touch. " Just my memories. "