Jörmungandr couldn’t care less about appearances and never understood those who had a problem with abnormal colours. Her grandmother and great uncle were both striped, her aunties had spotted blankets and her half-brother is covered in in spots. Her own half bald face and blue eyes are not exactly normal either so she has no right to judge anyone. In her experience though, odd colours attracted more attention, and rarely that discriminating kind. When she sees the draft mare’s colour, she can’t help but think she is the kind of mare her father would have taken a great interest in. Olaf has a thing for flashy mares.

It never hurts to be careful, there are plenty of wolves in sheep’s clothing around. Perhaps it is the worry about her unborn foal or the hormones of pregnancy or perhaps it is her natural protective nature but she is not one to just let possible intruders pass freely. It is in her blood to take charge and do what is best for her herd. The gamla tík would be proud, even if the draft she confronted found her hilarious and Azazel seemed more than a little put out. Jörmungandr snorts.

She pulls her head back from her spurned attempt at exchanging breaths and watches the mare with a steady gaze. Any horse who refuses a formal greeting is not to be trusted. She wonders what the mare is hiding and bristles at her words, narrowing her blue eyes slightly as the mare continues to introduce herself. Aureila. She will remember that and have words with Lyden later.

A tipped back ear swivels towards Azazel as she speaks before the buckskin has a chance. Jörmungandr ignores her, and remains focused on the new mare. ”You are naïve if you think foes cannot turn up hidden in plain sight. I have witnessed it”. In Olaf’s herd, she and one of the mares had straggled on the outskirts of the herd and been cornered by a lone mare passing through. The mare had been slightly standoffish from the start but not overtly aggressive until the mare least expected it. Jörmungandr had alerted Olaf and the gamla tík before any lasting damage occurred.

”Still” she continues, ”It is pleasing to have another member of the herd. I do not need Lyden’s confirmation.” That is as close to an apology Jörmungandr will give. She will not apologise for defending her family. Now that the draft is a part of that family, she will gladly defend her with the same fire, even if she does not trust her yet. ”I am Jörmungandr. You will find the forest pleasing” Some warmth finds her tone as she links back to Azazel’s earlier words.

Speaking of Azazel, the black mare turns to her, voicing her surprise, The buckskin snorted lightly, ”I heard noises.” She leaves it at that as the mare goes on to address the Aureila again. A pang of hungry ripples through her belly and she resolves to let them speak without her input, though always ready to jump back into the conversation. She drops her head to graze idly, ears swivelling at their words and her blue eyes still flicking between them.