❀

Despite her embarrassment, Hazel was grateful that Mjöllnir hung back when she could no longer keep up. She was young and still soft, though it seemed this mountain would toughen her up pretty quick. She gave the young stallion beside her a shy smile as they reached their destination, where she was so infatuated with everything she saw.

Lagertha left Hazel with her son, and as she departed Hazel dipped her head to the strong mare, aware of the gift she had given the golden filly. She would have to formally thank her later, but right now she was too excited at the prospect of a tour, and she followed Mjöllnir as though her hooves did not hurt at all. First stop was a creek, with such clear and cold waters that it did not seem to be real. She dipped her painted muzzle into the current and drank, her throat feeling as though it was icing over as the frigid water rushed down. She shivered, but it was delightful.

"Where does the water come from?" she asked, craning her neck to try and spot the source of the creek, but it disappeared a few meters away, winding into the stony craigs where a horse could not follow. "Does the snow melt and run down? Or is it rain?"

Not terribly concerned with the answer, Hazel turned away from the creek again. She was ready to see the entire Peak, whatever Mjöllnir had planned to show her; today, she would follow him anywhere. She grinned at the young Icelandic. "What’s next?"

"Dialogue"

Hazel