“Kyaaaah!” Þoka barrels down the beach toward a cluster of scavenging birds, startling them into flight before she’s near enough to rip their stupid wings off. The blue mare trundles to a halt, huffing, and lays her ears back at the fish dead in the sand. It reeks. She backs away, hooves splashing into the surf, and turns about to face the open water. She’s been chasing these white clusters all day and is no nearer to finding her Fjö∂ur. Part of her wants to chance the white-capped waves and return to that first beach, certain her friend must be there, but the water is especially choppy today and the wind blows fierce and cold. Each pulse of the water rushes loud up the sands, obscuring all but the high, sharp calls of the birds circling overhead.
Þoka strikes the water as if it has personally offended her and tosses her forelock out of her eyes. She may as well make the most of her day here. Scowling, she turns to continue scouring the beach, only to be confronted with a huge black mass of horseflesh. “Gah!” Þoka yelps and scrambles backwards, hooves skidding on the wet sand, and stares up at the giant. “What the hell!” she snaps. “Make some noise next time!” Never mind the fact that the tall beastie already had.
The blue mare draws herself up to her full height and still finds herself staring up at the other. This is foreign and uncomfortable. Her scowl becomes more pronounced. “You’re damnably tall, ‘s what you are. A right abomination. Horses aren’t supposed to be big as trees,” Þoka grumbles, then tosses her head even higher to draw the other’s attention to the birds above. “Hey, while you’re up there, why don’t you tell those beaky chits to cut their racket?” |