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Jörmungandr had not noticed the milky coloured mare hidden in within trees and neither, it seems, had the dark stallion and colt. As such, her quip fell on deaf ears as the pair jostled to reunite with the woman they both obviously hold dear to their hearts. She got little reaction from Lyden either, though she knew he heard her – after all, his eyes were upon her.
In the wake of the unceremonious movement of the colt, a few stray pebbles flew her way, splashing in the water around her legs. Undaunted, she flicks her tail causally around her haunches and considers her next move. With the little band forming a makeshift gathering, it seemed silly to be standing off from them in stream. She swings her body sideways, stocky legs making to pull her up onto the bank but she hesitates a moment at Lyden’s words. Never one to obey a command, even if it is only meant as a gentle suggestion, she considers digging her hooves into the sediment and remaining where she is. Ultimately she hops up onto the bank anyway, keen not to abandon sound reasoning for the sake of bullheadedness. Truthfully, she was also keen to meet the other horses of the forest.
Before she draws up just short of Lyden’s side, movement behind him catches her eye. A black mare sweeps up his flank, startling the painted stallion which brings an amused, light hearted smirk to Gandy’s lips – perhaps she would tease him about it later. She wonders if the mare is one of Lyden’s mares that came before her but the scent was not familiar from Gandy’s travels around the forest. The exchange between the two suggests perhaps she was the product of one of Lyden's recent jaunts to the crossing. She does not find time to question any of it before Lyden and the large stallion’s voices breaks her train of thought and her attention shifts. She offers a slight incline of her head as the dark male, Jabberwocky, introduces himself, remaining silent as he introduced Cream and Remo as well.
Lyden picks up the mantle of conversation once more, steering it round to address the black mare and herself. A hint of a smile crosses her lips at his introduction, ”Gandy” she corrects simply. There was no animosity in her tone yet she only accepted her current nickname because Olaf gave it to her; she was loathed if she would accept another. Perhaps Lyden had misheard her, either too preoccupied by her nature or perhaps trying to get his head around her full name (Imagine if she had used her full title, Jörmungandr Olafardottir!). Perhaps simply, fatigue had marred her words, amplifying the twinge of a nordic accent that she picked up from her father (and he from her grandmother).
If Azazel, the black mare, had not picked up on the question in the painted stallion’s eyes, the buckskin certainly didn’t miss it. She understood and acknowledged his carefully laid plans of gentle suggestion and then bulldozed straight through them. ”You are staying, yes?” she asked the mare, bordering on a statement more than a question. If she had been her grandmother it would undoubtedly not have been a question, but Ársæl had been the lead mare of the forest and the buckskin held no such title so she held her tongue. It was not her place to dictate who came and went.
One ear twists toward Jabberwocky, curious of his thoughts on winter while the other, and her gaze remains on firmly on Azazel, curious of her response.
Mare | Clydesdale/Shire/Quarter Horse/Mutt
Buckskin [Ee/Aa/nCr] | Four | 16.0hh
Olaf x Chianti
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