Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh, here I am at camp Grenada! Posted on April 7, 2020 at 11:58:26 AM by SIGHURD
&
Somewhere in her belly is a deep, guttural rumble as she moans of pleasure she lifts a hind leg to paw at the ground, relaxing into the teeth of the stallion as he digs into her skin.
Inappropriate, perhaps she would be told by a distant, stern voice that likely would have strongly disapproved of her behaviour. Yet she was not a prim and proper little thing, to the dismay of her parents, and instead a creature more likely to toss about in the mud over tending to her hair. As the scratching subsides, as does the thrumming of her leg, and Sighurd all but sighs defeatedly at the end of her pleasure, turning to finally look at the stallion that had approached her.
He is not and overly large stallion, close to the same size as her, and where she is a fiery red in colour, his skin is almost cool to the eye, decorated with a handsome smattering of white here and there. Handsome? Perhaps she is getting away with herself. “Thanks, na.” A little tic at the end of her words, ignored and often misinterpreted as a foreign tongue, Sighurd continues to stare almost pointedly, intensely into the white and scarred face of the stallion.
There was nothing particularly dire that had driven her here, simply a little stroll with a determined man that had inspired her to take to the seas with him and strike out on her own. “My father, na, quite literally.” Sighurd admits after a moment of contemplation, speaking informally of the red creature that had brought her here, and almost dismissing it, as though he weren’t the only family she had left in the world. “He lived here for a long time, wove some pretty stories when I was a child, na. I had to see for myself, so I came with him.”
And that was that, red skinned father and daughter had simply returned to their roots, and while separated, Sighurd had promised that she would write her own stories to tell around the campfire.