He would allow her to come on her own. Viđarr had all the time in the world, and he wasn’t going to worry about the time that the mare took. Though he’d been quiet, silence had been his life these days. It didn’t bother him much, and he didn’t have to speak the common tongue. It still tasted bad, and his words still often came out tangled and confused. Viđarr wondered if he was the only one out here who spoke his mother language, and if he’d be fated to feel as if no one truly understood him.
There’s a balance between fate and free will, and Viđarr is more likely to choose fate’s side. The gods had a plan for them all. It was that belief that kept them safe, and made them comfortable in situations that were… that were less than comfortable. No matter what, they were part of something greater. Viđarr would embrace their plan, and embrace his fate.
The dark, spotted mare lowered her head to graze. Viđarr mirrored the action from where he stood, clearing the snow away with a tidy hoof. Though he had become accustomed to the slim findings that winter offered, he was looking forward to the spring. He thrived in the cold, but it was hard to truly thrive when food was less than plentiful, after all. As Viđarr grazed carefully, he kept the mare in his periphery.
She edged closer. It’s slow, and he pauses in his chewing as soon as she moves. Swallows. Another step, and then another. The stranger closed the distance between them, and Viđarr realized that he didn’t know what he was going to say when she was close. He wasn’t sure that he had gotten that far in his thinking when he’d decided to call to her in the first place. The shadow of a man does not have the most commanding grasp over the language in the islands, but he’d been getting by.
The mare came close enough for Viđarr to touch, and he longed to reach out to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, something he’d been without for too long. Still… would it be rude? The stallion’s honeyed gaze stes on her for just a moment, curious. Slowly, Viđarr moved to offer his muzzle, a greeting in kind. He would not move more than halfway. If she wanted to meet him here, she could. Patient and silent, Viđarr would wait.
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