To Ylva’s relief, the little black mare accepted her company, if somewhat reluctantly. Ylva felt a twinge of self-doubt that sent heat creeping into her face and ears, but she did not intend to throw away this opportunity. Still, she was utterly unprepared, and found herself staring blankly at the mare as she grazed, trying to summon a thought - any thought - into her head.
“I don’t believe I ever caught your name,” is what she finally said, with a meek smile. “I am Ylva. And they-” she gestured at the golden twins sleeping a short distance away, and faltered with a smile. “Well, they don’t have names yet.”
Unless she counted ‘Little Girl’ and ‘Little Boy’, as well as countless other diminutives, that is. No true name she thought of seemed to stick, which Ylva could only put down to the fact that they were not her birth children. Every time she thought of one, she could not help but recall the body of their mother lying in the meadow grass with flies swarming all over her. It almost did not seem Ylva’s place to rob that poor mare the joy of naming her children.
Ylva’s eyes once more dropped to the swell of the mare’s belly, but she declined to comment on that. Perhaps once they knew each other better. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. I have so few friends in this place.” And I thought you might relate, she wanted to add, but held her tongue.
3; norwegian fjord; red dun pangare; 14hh
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