Meadow

The fields, in all their wet and snowy glory, had become her haunt and temporary home. She knew all too well that there were other lands, complete with stallions and mares and foals, decorated with pecking orders and wars- but she liked this place. It was simple, and it provided for her everything she wanted.

Food and a quiet place to occasionally rest her head.

She knew that there were probably predators here and there, sprinkled through the snow like rats in a cellar, but she found comfort in the constant comings and goings of the meadow. There was always someone, somewhere, and she doubted that with such a high rate of travellers that this place would be anything but serene.

Squinting up at the winter sun, she isn’t entirely sure that ‘serene’ and ‘idyllic’ are what she is seeking in her life. Her shoulder is sore from her brief spar with the young grullo stallion, and Sighurd knows that her heart is still thrumming from the little taste of battle. There is a subtle swelling just where her pink-red ribs meet her pink-red shoulder, and deep in the meaty flesh she can feel the darkness of a bruise blossoming.

She would wear it like a badge, and she was certain that her father would have been proud- wherever he was.

Wiggling her body where she stood, she stretches out her body and flexes her neck, like waking up her muscles and starting the early morning routine of checking her flesh for knicks and cuts. While she brushes her nose against one red knee, Sighurd carefully eyes the meadow with one eye, and sees that she is not the only one enjoying her leisure time. Not too far away was a bay stallion, tall and athletic, and he too already looks to be bored of the simple morning routine. “Oi!” She huffs out in greeting, noting that he had already dried himself, and so must have been here for longer than a couple hours. “See anything good out there, na?”