To say Nyi was worried would be an understatement. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the Ridge seemed foreign. The happy chatter of foals was absent. The quick patter of tiny hooves along the uneven earth was silent. Even the scents she had grown so accustomed to were stale in her searching nostrils. Desperation began to quiver her nostrils, ears fitting back and forth desperately searching for Sigurdr. You would know... over and over again the words play upon her mind. If something bad had happened to him you would feel it. You are his mother.

Silently she cursed herself for letting the gnawing worry eat at her thoughts, that is, until she sees him.

Bjorn.

Relief floods through every fiber of her being as an excited nicker rushes unbidden from her lips. Eagerly her steps quicken, prancing with pride despite the nagging pain in her shoulder. Pleasure glitters in those dark auburn eyes as she gazes at the smokey blue stallion that she had claimed as her own. He was just as she remembered him.

Though it had only been a few weeks at best since she had taken to the ocean surf and joined the war at her father's side, gazing at Bjorn now, it felt as though an eturnity had passed. As he drew nearer, that confident resolve seemed to dwindle. Like her, his body was littered in new bites and fresh wounds yet to scar. His eyes, usually so bright with affection and miscief seemed diminished, dulled by pain and loss. Immediately she felt the tension once more begin to rise beneath her skin. He moves against her, the warmth of his skin a reassurance despite the trying times that had seperated them. She cannot help but to find comfort in smell of his skin and excitement in the press of his muscular neck against her own. Flashes of those intimate moments in which Sigurdr had been concieved flash through her mind, reminding her that autumn is still in full swing and the nature of the season craved to feel the carnal lust of his touch.

They took him.... the words fall past his lips are like a blanket of frozen snow upon her hot flesh. The Lagoon has our son. as though on repeat the words play back again and again through the recesses of her mind. Sigurdr was gone.

Unbidden she takes a step back, dark eyes widened with the sudden rush of pain and frustration. She had not been here and now he was gone. Like an erruption the anger boils. Ears snap back beneath the silken ivory of her mane. Defiantly her proud head lifts eyes glazed in fury. "Gone?!? she screams, the deep mahogany of her skin quivering beneath the power that suddenly burned with intensity in every fiber of her being. "Gone?!?!" she repeats her voice growing quieter with deadly intensity. Teacup muzzle jerks now as her gaze shifts to the landscape around them, hoping that at any moment her beautifully colored son would burst forth with a boysterous laugh. Instead there is only silence. "Where were you?! Where was Ysabel?! You were supposed to protect him!" she rages lost amid the turmoil of grief. She couldn't grasp it, did not want to. "Sigurdr! Sigurdr!" she calls desperation lingering upon her voice now as she draws herself into a quickened gait, pacing back and forth along the treeline, casting her gaze left and right to no avail. Sigurdr was gone.

Frenzied in grief she turns to Bjorn now, her lover, her king. A roar of rage burns past her lips as she lunges at him, teeth placing a hard bite on his shoulder. "Why are you here?! Why arent you getting him back? "

It was the first time ever that she had dared to lay a mark on Bjorn. The first time that the thought of attacking her bear king ever crossed her mind and in the moment now she feels the weight heavy... but she is not ready to forgive. She would not wallow in grief and pity. She damn sure would not let him. She would burn the world to the ground to retrieve her only son.