When the bigger mare doesn’t lunge again, the blue roan relaxes a bit and shuffles her hooves on the damp sand. The birds above are still wheeling, the fish nearby still stinking to high heaven, but for the first time since coming here she feels.... generally okay. Okay enough to be interested, maybe even a little sympathetic, to the tall mare who admits to avoiding the others in this territory.
Þoka scowls, though, at the suggestion she seek Björn’s help. “Naw, I don’t think I’ll go looking for that guy. His idea of helping was to take me away from the beach I landed on.” You didn’t have to follow him into the ocean, Þoka, a small voice inside her says, and she shakes it away with a snort. Too late now. She wouldn’t know how to find that first beach anyway.
Fjö∂ur...
“Anyway,” Þoka says sharply, then tosses her head again and makes an effort to speak more gently. She succeeds only in sounding less irritated. “Why are you playing keep away from everyone else? And how’d someone big as you get to be hanging around a stallion so much smaller than you?” Her ears tip back. “Did he trick you, too?” she asks suspiciously. |