The Lost Islands
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Meadow

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he who passes the sentence
Posted on January 10, 2021 at 05:22:31 AM by Faldne



There was a place and a purpose for every Icelandic who had been sent to the Vítgríðr by the will of their gods - but no longer for the mare whose name had been forgotten in the wake of her crimes.

Like the rest of her kin, the dark mare valued strength and stoicism above all else. But the swiftness of the elders’ retribution - and the unexpected fervor of her people’s rejection - had stunned her. With but a single decision, she had somehow managed to reverse her own fortune from rise into ruin. Suddenly, the seal bay was stripped of everything that she had known, everything that she had fought to earn - from the respected rank she’d earned amongst the sovngarde to the very name she’d been given at her birth. Only her life remained to her - and the curse that with time she would come to embrace as her new name: Faldne.

More than a full year had passed since that fateful day - time enough for the exiled skjaldmey to fully explore every stage of her newfound grief. For the first couple days she had been numb, certain that she was trapped in the midst of some nightmare and would awaken to the life she had always known. And after she could deny the truth no longer, anger had filled Faldne. Anger at the elders who had denounced her, at the kvidr who had sentenced her. To turn a blind eye to the suffering of their foe was one thing - but to condemn one of their own to a fate worse than death for showing empathy and mercy towards those whose annihilation was otherwise imminent?

Could they have truly forgotten that even the gods they were sworn to were not without mercy?

Once the fire of her indignity had faded to a smoldering ember, Faldne had sought to negotiate her return to grace. But ears that had once turned forward at a single word from the dark mare were now deafened to her voice, and the dignity that she still clung to would not permit her to plead. Surrendering to a lifetime on the outskirts of the society she’d once faithfully served - and sinking into sorrow - it had been two seasons before Faldne had come to accept her exile. From that day, she had worn the dark burden of her shame like a crown, finding small comfort in the fact that she could claim freedom for the corruption that had begun to sweep into the sovngarde’s swelling ranks.

And then she had been summoned.

Throughout the entirety of the proposition, Faldne had worn the face of the warrioress they’d once known as a mask. By all appearances, the white-marked mare was impassive and obedient. No emotion was betrayed by the blue eyes that had watched the stallion pace agitatedly back and forth as he spoke - allowing his composure to slip in a way that even children were not often guilty of. Whoever the creature of whom he spoke - and whatever their crimes - it was obvious that the sentence she was commanded to pass went beyond simple justice. Whatever they claimed, this was retribution - no, vengeance. But if she agreed to be the sword so that their own blades might remain unsullied, her crimes would be pardoned. And her rank would not only be restored, but elevated beyond what she had attained before her exile.

She could be someone again.

Faldne set out in the depths of winter, and expected struggle and hardship along the course of her journey. Instead, she found that time seemed to skip ahead in strange leaps as she traveled south - from a realm that was buried in snow to one where the white cover had softened and begun to melt, and then finally to a sea-bordering place where no snow existed at all. There she was assured by a band of scraggly ponies that her target had entered the sea, where it was all but certain that he’d perished - but Faldne could not leave his fate or hers to chance. WIth a disdainful snort and a roll of her eyes, she’d cast herself into the waves without a backwards glance.

And she found that the certainty of death was replaced by the strong possibility of survival, and the beginning of a second life.

Shaking the saltwater from her coat vigorously, the seal bay did not linger long on the island’s shore - knowing that her quarry would have done the same. Instead - casting a quick gaze at her surroundings - Faldne veered towards the welcoming cover of a nearby stand of trees. The intermingled scents of numerous equines made it difficult to determine one individual’s scent from another - but far from being discouraged, she followed this trail to its conclusion in a clearing where many of her own species grazed.

Where there were so many sets of eyes, surely one must have seen what she hoped to find in this desolate and far-away land.


FALDNE
forsaken daughter of the sovngarde
9 | mare | icelandic | seal brown tobiano splash | 13.2hh


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