If only this stranger could possibly comprehend the ordeal she had been through. The silver mare had had a relatively hard life, not made much easier by her prickly personality. On the other hand, had her “father” not been such a murderous bastard it wouldn’t have needed to be this way. Of course she was offended by every little thing. Anything critical said brought her back to the day her mother died. How was she to know what flaw would be the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back for each new individual? One second they were telling her the mind her manners, the next they could completely snap and the verbal attack would be physical. And of course, because she was so unwilling to see from anyone else’s perspective, she could not understand why Bhaskara had been so terrified to see her running.
She was just starting to feel antsy thinking about all this and wishing she could just get back to Þoka already, when the bay spoke again. Fjö∂ur’s own hazel eyes widened and her eyebrows rose beneath her thick blonde forelock in surprise. These actions would be barely visible to Bhaskara, who had not offered her name but an apology. The painted pony was surprised the other mare, who was by far the most stubborn she had met aside from herself or Þoka in a long time, would buckle so quickly. Satisfied, she let her ears relax up from their previous position: buried in her mane. She could have taunted the taller bay mare for the perceived weakness, but she needed to think of her end goal of getting out of this wasteland.
“Yes, that would be fine,” she said shortly. An ear flicked forward curiously to catch the name of the island finally. Salem…fresh water hard to come by. Aha, so Fjö∂ur was right; this was a hellhole. Why, then would anyone live here? The sun was starting to make her skin flush uncomfortably with heat. Despite the cool water, she was still sweating. She refused to acknowledge the fact that the sleek mare could have been right about going further into the sea, and in any case the Icelandic was afraid that she’d get swept back out by the undertow. Maybe this mare didn’t know about it.
The curly-eared female began to walk away, making like she was going to guide Fjö∂ur into the mazes she supposed lay between the towering hills of sand. The pinto eyed her beadily, assessing whether or not she should follow or just take her chances again with the ocean. She looked behind her again, and saw nothing but open sea. It seemed that if there were other islands, they were not behind her. It looked like either way she would have to enter the intimidating landscape before her to get to Þoka. She took a few steps forward, her slender legs struggling to fight the tug of the water as it backed away from the sandy shore. “Alright, I guess. Let’s go. I don’t have any better ideas anyway,” she admitted bitterly. Ugh, when did I get so polite?
FJÖÐUR
mare . icelandic horse . seven . silver black tobiano . 13 hh |