For years, Ylva had rejected normality. Having been scorned not once, not twice, but three times by the lives others had chosen for her, she had fled to the crossing with only her unborn son to keep her company. She had turned away all suitors and all offers of residence; she had hardened her heart and sworn to herself that she would never suffer the grievances of herd life ever again. And for a time she had indeed felt safer alone, hidden away in that meadow with Runar, than she ever had in any herd. Her life had been quiet and isolating, but it had been uncomplicated: comforting in its simplicity and predictability.

She could never have imagined that she would one day end up back in the Bay, living beneath a new Queen with a stallion as her most trusted companion. But here she was, a year into her new life as a humble herd mare. While Ylva had at first looked with concern and a bit of distaste at Valka's penchant for violence, the little red mare had proven - in spite of her size - to be a fierce and competent warrior Queen, turning aside every threat and cultivating an atmosphere of peace and stability among the herd. Quietly, she earned Ylva's respect.

Yet still there was a barrier between them. Ylva watched Valka often, but said little. In all fairness, there was little about the Queen that inspired conversation for Ylva. She did not feel she could approach Valka in the way she could with other mares; in fact, she found the Queen's stoicism to be somewhat unnerving and intimidating. But Ylva, too, kept herself distant. She spent most of her time at the fringes of the herd with Errant, her mind faraway, drifting as much into the past as it did into the future. She had much to consider if she did not wish to sink into the quicksand of stagnation once again.

Her existential crisis did little to slow the flow of time, of course. As the days lengthened and the ice thawed, Valka swelled with child and gave birth to a sweet little filly called Kesja, whose parentage Ylva often wondered about. New faces appeared; others departed forever. Ylva watched with particular interest the growing closeness of Valka and her hersir, Bacardi. Their bond fascinated and perplexed Ylva; in her mind, Bacardi's gentle, even temper seemed an odd pairing with the cold white fire that burned in Valka, but it seemed to work for them, and it gave Ylva hope that she could one day gain Valka's respect in a similar way.

It was a chill winter day when Valka called the herd together. Ylva stood in the shadow of Errant, her eyes fluttering closed as she dozed in the protection his tall frame offered against the wind, but she stood to attention at Valka's call, her dark eyes searching the Queen's face for any suggestion of what was to come. Valka's face was unreadable as usual, but she moved leisurely among the herd, taking time to greet each member. Whatever it was, it could not be too urgent a matter. Once Valka had passed her and Errant, Ylva side-eyed the stallion, a quizzical gleam in her eye. What was the Queen about to spring on them?