Her home, whatever part of it could still be called her home, was far away and very similar to this island. There was nothing special or mystical about the forest that had housed her and the fields where she had earned her legs. Sighurd was barely worth noticing, perhaps if it weren’t for the cool red on her skin and the awkward way she had assaulted a tree with her flesh.
She was impartial to that place, just as she didn’t mind one way or another what became of this place. Whether it became a home, if they found a lover or a family, or if she fulfilled all the pipedreams of her father and became some great conquering queen- Sighurd didn’t really care much, one way or another.
“Maybe the forest- I do rather like trees.” She says with a little, low chuckle, knowing that the painted stallion had only moments ago watched her intimate moment with the foliage. “Here isn’t too bad, na. There’s open space, lots of people coming and going. Maybe I don’t really feel like swimming anymore.” The red woman never really cared for the ocean. It was too unpredictable, and too cold during these trying months. She wasn’t plump and fat enough to find the waters even remotely tolerable, and so perhaps she would make a hefty home of this field before the winter was gone.
Serious conversations always called for some kind of eye contact, and perhaps while the stallion was staring deeply into her eyes and trying to find something, Sighurd focused on a little bit of dust, or dirt perhaps, that had become ensnared in his eyelashes. She was not a particularly deep creature. “What’s your name, na? Or can I call you Scratchy?” Another little chuckle, this time with a cool curling of her lips into whatever related to a jovial smile. “I’m Sighurd.”
mare . red dun . fifteen pt one . russell