The sound of hoofbeats growing louder caught Merete’s ear, and she tore her gaze away from her daughter and turned her head to locate the source of her noise. She expected to see another passing stranger headed for someone else. She did not expect to see the father of her child headed straight for her, although he was still somewhat a stranger. She turned to him quickly, with just one nervous glance over her shoulder to check Drika was still playing nearby. She shifted uncomfortably as he drew nearer, her amber gaze fixed on him, narrowing as she noticed the way his own gaze drifted obviously over her body. She did not return his smile, and certainly not his wink. Merete was frozen for a moment, her lips parting as if to reply and then faltering as she found the words missing. He looked a little older than the last time they had met, and the fact that his appearance was still changing so reminded Merete of just how young and inappropriate he was. If it were possible, she would have been blushing. With a start she seemed to shake her brain into action and found her tongue. “Listen,” she began abruptly, “We need to tal–” But before Merete could finish – or rather, even begin – Drika came bounding over, clearly intrigued by her mother’s visitor and bumped against her side. She looked up at the creamy stallion with wide eyes the same shade of amber as her mother, and her grandfather before that. “Mama, who’s this?” Drika asked, staring openly. Merete glanced between the two awkwardly, lost for words. Drika was not as loudly pattered as her father – the white on her legs did not extend to her belly, and the smallest sprinkling of spots on her rump scattered her dark golden pelt – but she wondered whether he would realise, looking at her. After all, she hardly looked like her mother. |