She had come to the islands with hope and a belief that she could right the wrongs of her past. She would earn forgiveness and find a place for herself. She had been determined and disciplined. She had been strong and unwavering. She had been a fool. As soon as her wide hooves had touched the soil at the base of the mountain, all the fears she had buried rushed back to the surface. They grasped at her heart and squeezed the air from her lungs so that she was constantly left breathless, gasping for air.

Every day she would think, ‘today is the day’. She would gather her courage and make for the ocean and then she would freeze. Day in and day out she would stand on the shore, still and unmoving, mismatched eyes cast out to the formations of earth that made up the islands. Every day, horses would pass by her; back and forth. From the corner of her eye she could see them stare and she could hear the whispers – the stories about the scarred mare that stood sentry on the shore. There were rumours that she had fought a great beast and chased it into the sea, now she watches for its return. Others said that she was a demon escaped from the netherworld and if her blue eye were to look upon you, death would surely follow. Those who made the trips between the islands often got used to her presence but made the effort to give her a wide berth. No one ever asked her why she was there. No one spoke to her at all.

When the sun faded below the horizon she would make her way back up the mountain. Her sisters did not shun or avoid her but they did not hold conversation for long either. She heard whispers of change and unrest and what was to come. She even heard of a sad creature that lived in the caves and refused to come out, perpetually surrounded by silence and darkness. She gave it as much merit as the stories of the scarred mare standing vigil on the shore. Each day she would pass the mouth of the cave on her way to and from her chosen place of rest and each day she would see and hear nothing from the cave. Some days, when curiosity piqued, she would consider venturing in the cavern to see for herself but ultimately she felt guilty for thinking of it. If there truly was something wallowing in there then what right did she had to intrude? She let it be just as the horses on the crossing let her be.

Like any morning, the rise of the sun signified her trip to the shoreline. The fire of determination was in her belly. “Today is the day” she whispered with conviction but she knew that by the time she reached the bottom of the mountain trail, all that courage will have remained on the peak. She had promised the mountain to spread the word of the Vulcans across the islands and she could not even set hoof in the sea. She snorted resolutely, she would prove herself. Today was the day.

She began the slow trek from her shelter, the limp in her left leg more pronounced in the morning due to the stiffness of sleep and hours of disuse. The rising sun flashed off the pale lines of scars that cut over her face, chest and haunches. Her wide hooves navigated the mountain ridges with expert precision, pebbles crackling beneath them with each step. As she rounded the ledge, the view of the cave entrance revealed a different scene to that she was used to. A thin, dark figure with pale, silvery locks left the confines of the cavern. Áshildr had not seen the wraith-like creature before but it seemed that the whispers around the peak were true. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she walked, wondering what that meant for the rumours about her.

While she was used to the precarious nature of the various ledges and ridges that led down from her spot, she was still a distance back from the reclusive creature that had emerged from the cave. When she finally rounded the final outcrop, her mismatched eyes take in the peculiar sight. He was malnourished and looked as if he had lived a thousand lives. She wondered what stories he had to tell. She sucked in a deep breath, the scant remains of her night nostril flapping loosely against the current.

She picked her way over to the wraith, taking a place beside him with the view down the peak and below stretching out before them “I was beginning to think rumours of a reclusive mountain man were nothing more than a myth” she said, and turned to gaze upon him. Her eyes lingered on the place where an ear should be. “We match” she observed with a small smile before turning to look out at the view. She closed her eyes and breathed in the mountain air. “My name is Áshildr, what is yours stranger?”. Today was different. Maybe today would be the day after all.