Meadow

The interaction she'd had on Atlantis had been enlightening, and yet she had never felt more confused. Was this really where the Æsir wanted her to be? In this land of uncultured misfits with their uncouth behavior and strange customs? Would she really find the commander here?

Thankfully, the omen-man and the lean colt had pointed her in the direction of gathering after their discussion, and with the blessing of Njörðr she had made it through the mother ocean. This swim had not been as long, which was a relief for the stout Icelandic mare. Despite the training she'd endured before her journey, physical exertion had never been enjoyable for her.

Much to her chagrin, a storm surged to life the moment her pale hooves made landfall and any hope that she'd had of rubbing the sea-salt from her monochrome coat faded. Ears pinned, the small mare huffs a muffled curse at Freyr and stalks inland to seek the cover of the trees. The sooner she accomplished her goals and could return home, the better.

Ingrid peered out grimly beneath a fringe of dark forelock as she settled underneath the outermost edge of trees to drip in sullen silence. Few creatures braved the nasty weather, and she sincerely regretted that she had been one of them. For the first time, she found herself missing the warmth and sun of the Harbor she'd landed on first, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She was here whether she liked it or not, and she knew that no amount of grousing at Freyr's bad timing would inspire the implacable god to move his storm for her convenience.

A figure dances into view in her periphery and she turns toward it, her blue eyes tracking the graceful dance of the wraith-like apparition. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure at first if this was some sort of strange message from Forseti or if it was actually happening; the girl danced far too gracefully and in tune with the storm to be entirely believed, but as she settled into a normal trot, Ingrid decided to take her chances. It was like she was going to be dry anytime soon anyway.

"Kveða," she shouts by way of greeting, slipping into a tölt to try and catch up. The grass beneath her petite hooves was slippery under the deluge of water and she skidded closer. "Hello," she offers succinctly as she falls in step with her, her small black ears pinned beneath the tangle of her mane. "What is your purpose here, mær?" Her small face cranes up at the pretty peach-colored mare with suspicion in her gaze. Perhaps if she was not a vision sent by Forseti, she could at least offer more information to aid her in her search. "This is the gathering place, yes?"