If one had asked Brynja a year, or even two years ago, if she imagined herself living in the home of her ancestors ― with a child of her own, no less ― she would have laughed and said that sounded silly. She knew little about her ancestors and even less about the Islands they had once called home. Grandmother had told her everything she could, of course, but towards the end her mind had grown fuzzy, and with it the details of her time here.

It had only been by Fate's hand that she'd ended up here. And now, having managed to fit a few more pieces into the puzzle of her ancestry, she was content to lead a simple life like Freya had once done. Some things had happened far more quickly than she'd anticipated, of course ― like starting a family.

She'd never meant to get pregnant, of course. It made her uncomfortable to say that Svenja was a mistake, but wasn't that the only word for something happening that you didn't mean to? Making a mistake? Her tryst with Bacardi had been fun, but ultimately that's all it had been ― a tryst. A fling, nothing to be taken seriously. She'd resigned herself to that fact some time ago, and was content to leave it at that. Even if she fancied the idea of something more with the sire of her daughter, she felt like it was unlikely. Surely he had more important things to do than entertain the lustful whims of some woman.

Besides, she was just happy to just have a place to call home.

A heavy sigh pulled itself from between her pale lips, breath condensing as it rises to meet the frigid autumn air. Summer had only just left and already a chill was setting in across the island. Winter would be here soon, and Brynja found herself grimacing whenever she thought of the bleak months that were just around the corner. Far too close for her liking, but there was little to be done against the forces of nature. Living in the north had been wonderful, but it also had its share of drawbacks, and this was one of them ― the cold always seemed to come early and stay late.

Blue eyes remained glued to the nearby figure of her daughter playing among the tall grasses, nipping at the swaying tips and tearing wilted flowers from their stems as peals of giddy laughter rose from her throat. When she strayed just a touch too far, Brynja stepped forward, intent on not letting the roan filly out of her sight. "Svenja, my love, stay close." She beckoned the ivory-splashed filly back towards her side, wanting to keep her warm. Winter was coming quickly and she was so small. Vulnerable. Fragile. Sometimes Brynja worried that a simple gust of wind would knock her over and send her tumbling down the hill, right into the churning black sea that surrounded Tinuvel.

Svenja bolted towards her mother, all lanky limbs and bright eyes, a piece of grass stuck in her lip. "What am I going to do with you?" she wondered aloud, shaking her head at her daughter's antics.

((just for reference: I've decided to play it so that Brynja has only just recently given birth - like late summer, so Svenja is still just a bebe <3))