Þoka looks toward the ground, letting her thick forelock obscure her eyes. Islands. A whole bunch of lands scattered all about that she’ll have to slog through one at a time to find Fjö∂ur, traversing unfamiliar terrain alone and likely having to talk to horse after horse just to find her. The blue roan shudders, her lips curling in distaste at the idea of so much socializing with so many strangers, having to admit to her personal loss, and she retreats for a moment behind irritation to keep her grief at bay.
She flicks her head to free one eye and glances at Björn, suspicious of his lack of verbal artillery (even though she, too, has holstered her tongue), then to Siobhan as the red mare responds. Þoka gives her head another toss. “We swam together almost the whole way, ‘til a wave blinded me anyway. Fjandinn sjó,” she mutters the curse away from the other two and glowers inland. It’s not an adventure without Fjö∂ur: the dense trees and vines and strange bird calls are just a terrible sensory cacophony without her. They were supposed to be here together. That had been the plan.
Her ears twitch at Siobhan’s choice of words, notably the plural “we,” and Þoka eyes her again. She is still suspicious, but as she turns each word over in her mind she can’t find an ulterior motive wriggling underneath. Eventually, though, something is sure to crop up. Þoka will watch the taller mare carefully for that, but for now she knows it would be beyond foolish to reject the offered help. It will be easier to travel with someone familiar with the land, and a mare with as much social grace as Siobhan would be infinitely helpful to someone as impatient and surly as herself.
“Well. Yes. Uhm, thanks,” she says gruffly. “I could use a nap. And some grub before we go,” she says, eyeing the sand-strewn grass at her feet. One ear turns toward the stallion as Siobhan addresses him as ‘love.’ Danger, her inner voice warns, but she keeps her gaze averted, then ducks her head to pull up a mouthful of food. Þoka chews determinedly as she looks everywhere except at Björn and Siobhan, though her ear nearly quivers with the strain of trying to hear whether or not the stallion will accept Sibohan’s invitation. |