Meadow

Ingrid knows the moment the mare responds that she is no vision, but refuses to be disappointed. Forseti often spoke to her in confusing ways, and just because this mare was not ethereal in nature did not mean that she would not carry some sort of important message. Reluctantly, a single ear untucks from the gnarled mess of her mane and points in her direction, eager to hear the words that she offers.

When she claims no particular purpose, Ingrid's brow furrows in thought. If she was not out here on some sort of god-given quest, then what drove her into the sheeting rain? As if reading her thoughts, the mare tossed the same question back at her and the Icelandic snorted derisively. "Trying to see if you were some sort of omen or just a loon that likes the rain."

Despite the sarcasm, there is no malice in the overo mare's words, only a bemused sort of frustration. This conversation certainly wasn't going how the small Nordic woman had expected. When the golden-hued mare spoke again, she stared at her evenly, trying to suss out hidden meaning behind her gentle queries. As she inquires about Ingrid's purpose, the diminutive mare's gaze narrows in suspicion before he decides to offer this stranger a smidgeon of trust. She certainly did not look like a Yakut or even a Yakut spy and anyway… she would never find him if she didn't start asking questions.

"I am looking for someone." She says haltingly, her brown gaze still piercing into her companion. "He is wanted for questioning by the gyðja."

Ingrid had sworn herself to be impartial in her quest, but even she could not avoid the disgusted wrinkle of her lip as she spoke of the man she sought. If half of the crimes he was accused of were to be believed, he deserved the worst fate the gyðja could sentence, and then some. But Ingrid was not the sentencer, merely the messenger and as such, her purpose lay only in finding the man.

The strange woman's questions about the ground beneath her hooves sends Ingrid's gaze away to skim across their surroundings. It was hard to judge whether a place was meant for gathering or not when most sane-minded individuals hid away from the open areas. Still, this was the place that the boys from the strange jungle island with it's weird Jötunn-like trees and stilt-wearing húskarl had pointed her. Somewhere on this massive island was a place meant for gathering, and it might as well be this one. Her new companion then asks for more details about what the please was that she sought, and the monochrome mare shook her head.

"Not a where, a who," Ingrid corrects her with another surreptitious glance around them for the stallion in question. She sincerely doubted that the man she sought would be here now, but thinking of him still made her skin crawl uneasily. "And it's not so much this place, but the purpose of it, ye ken? More horses, more eyes, less work for me."

Craning her head again to meet the mare's eyes once more, she peered directly at her, hoping to spot any telltale signs of a line. "Speaking of which, have you seen a jǫru fægir - er, stallion, about my size?" Her nose wrinkled as she tried to think of the best way to describe him. "Mostly white. Big mouth. Thinks he's all that..." she trailed off as she tried to find other descriptors. In truth, she had never known the man by sight, only by reputation, and even now wasn't entirely certain she could pick him out of a crowd. "Or something like that. Have you, then?" She finished with a flick of her tail.