Her mother always told her it was the mares who kept the herds running smoothly; that it was their instincts and knowledge that kept everyone safe and well fed. Stallions were the brute force, the ones who made sure no one else harmed the herd and kept watch for predators but the mares led the way. That seemed sensible. Hoarding mares for bragging rights and as foal bearing machines seemed unwise and unsustainable. What did Geirdriful know though? She is just child with only her mother’s teachings to guide her. She knows nothing of how cruel the life of a herd mare can be.

Skögul had always told her, that when and if the time comes for her to break from the family, she should be careful where she chooses to make her home with. She did not want to be a prize or a brood mare, she wanted rank and recognition. ”How do you figh- i-? How do you -each ‘em a change?”

The shining warrior questioned how much the girl had witnessed and she nodded. ”I live wi- my ma, sis’er and bruffer in a meadow. Ma has always been a nomad bu’ maybe as because of how you say s’allions see mares. She can be fierce when a s’allions make a law of fuss.” There were stallions who wanted to take them home and others who wanted things Geirdriful's young mind didn't understand. Her mother would chase them off with pinned ears, flashing teeth and strong hooves.

The warrior mentioned that it would help to see the injustice for herself. Her brow furrowed a touch, ”I don- wan- a be a par- of ah myself bu- I would like a see i- wi- my own eyes as you said. Can you show me?” Geirdriful was always willing to listen and learn; that was the key to survival, or so her mother told her.