mare; icelandic x vanner; 14.2hh; palomino roan sabino
3 years
no home
It was comforting to stand with Valka in the Common. She listened to the Yakutian mare, picking up bits and pieces of both tongues, tucking them away to memory; eventually, if she was not careful, she would end up communicating to the other mare in a blend of their dialects, likely with some English words thrown in as well. She thought this might be offensive, but later in life she would realize that nothing on these islands reflected normal life for either winter-bred mare. She would be respectful of their tongues for Valka’s benefit and no one else’s.
Sæunn listened, and then took a few moments to think about Valka’s description of the islands. She didn’t fully understand the implications of stallions forcing mares to live with them, both for her youth and the language barrier, but she understood enough to know that she did not want it to happen to her. The way Valka spoke of stallions, her body language whether or not she could find the words, was telling enough for Sæunn.
”Mér líkar ekki við hita,” she said with distaste in regards to Salem and Atlantis. ”Luthien hljómar í lagi. Samt sem áður, I miss cold,” she said, her voice almost wistful, though it remained reserved. ”Ef þú lætur mig koma, Ég held að ég myndi vilja Tinuvel.” Sæunn was humbled by the offer Valka had given her of the colder island’s sanctuary. She dipped her head gratefully with her response; she knew she had been lucky to encounter Valka today. ”Þú átt þakkir mínar,” she said, her voice sincere.
Mér líkar ekki við hita. I do not like heat
Luthien hljómar í lagi. Samt sem áður, Luthien sounds okay. However,
Ef þú lætur mig koma, Ég held að ég myndi vilja Tinuvel. If you let me come, I think I would like Tinuvel
Þú átt þakkir mínar. You have my thanks.
Sæunn
