After her meeting with Léon in the meadow, Geirdriful had rejoined her mother, brother and aunt. She had asked her mother curiously about the lagoon that Lion Eye’s had spoken of and of the mares who tried to sneak other mares away from there. Skögul did not take much interest in the politics of either of the herds but she had some insight and explained the basic idea behind each. Geirdriful did not find the bachelor herd to be of much interest but the idea of a band of mares intrigued her. Apparently there were warriors in their ranks and they had the opportunity to take misbehaving stallions hostage to teach them a lesson.

Her whole short life, she had been fascinated by warriors and often dreamt of the day she would become one – well one that would be taken seriously anyway. She already believed she was already warrior now or perhaps one in training at the very least. She dreamt of being a valkyrie who would storm into battle, striking down her enemies and saving those unable to save themselves. The Vulcan peak seemed like an ideal opportunity to achieve her goals but she had to see it for herself first to really believe it.

It was in the early hours of the morning that the white splattered dunalino, with a bandit face, stole away from her small family’s side. She carved her way expertly to the base of the peak and then cast gaze upwards, blue eyes quietly taking in the sight of the mountain. The task would be a mammoth one but it would be worth it to see the warriors of the peak for herself.

Huffing heavily from the exertion, she finally pulled herself up onto a well worn rocky flat. There were a few trees and grasses scattered around that signified it was probably a good place for the herd to hang around and she figured they probably lingered round the corner of the peak that still rose above her head. Once she had caught her breath, she fully intended to seek them out.