Meadow

She is flattered that he finds her name to be of substance.

It had been chosen by her father, reaching back into the tradition of his ancestors and choosing a suitable name for her. She had never been told it’s meaning, nor had she learned anything about whatever ancestory she had been named after- but she knew that the way her father said her name with a sense of pride that he had chosen carefully.

Despite her informal method of socializing, she smiles at knowing that the stallion being able to see the careful thought that had gone into naming her.

“Thank you!” Were she not already a diluted red in colour, there may have been an abashed flush about her cheeks. Already she has taken a liking to this stallion, even if he seems a little formal and a little stiff for her- but that does not bother Sighurd one bit. “And you have a complicated name- but I like it. It speaks of family.” She has heard of the tradition, to wear the name of your father into battle and to wear it with honor.

She just isn’t sure how to express her admiration for his name, as he had shown her.

When he speaks of his home, she turns to face him and her dark eyes light up with the idea of there being a sort of paradise in the trees. She does not care for the birds and the bees, and she certainly doesn’t care for the waterfalls- but she knows that the trees call to her, and that is where she belongs. “Oh!” She exclaims childishly, “That sounds rather wonderful, actually!” Her curiosity is piqued by the desire to see trees that were not looming pine trees and crooked firs.