Rutger, son of Tyr and Dirge. The first name was one Poppy knew, given that she had lived from six months up until now on Atlantis. Even if she and her mother had never had reason to venture toward the Ridge, she heard enough conversations to piece together who was who among the island. Particularly, too, when she had started to venture off on her own, it was important for Poppy to know who’s borders she was encroaching on.
Not that it stopped her, of course. Even now she was standing deep within Paradise with a strange stallion; if he was the sort, he could easily bully her and wear her down when she tried to leave him and keep her here. He didn’t seem like he would be, but the thought still inspired a mix of excitement, trepidation, and even some disgust. Poppy had mixed feelings about forceful brutes, given what little her mother had confessed about her own father’s behavior to keep Lilija on Salem and ultimately birth Poppy.
“What do you dream about at night?” She asked with the intrigue soft on her tone. Poppy’s golden eyes flicked away from the ocean and to Rutger’s face, curious of what his answer would be. “Sometimes I dream I’m a bird,” she said shortly after, then glanced away from him and back over their hinds where the shadowed jungle of Atlantis lay. Her eyes trailed up the treetops and toward the sky before she sighed and said, “and I just fly, and fly, and fly far away until I can’t see anything but the sky and the clouds.”
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