“Sigurðr?” The soft call breaks the stillness and as the buckskin mare hastens to the night-marked grullo’s side, she is vaguely aware of the stranger she passes by, but doesn’t spare him anything more than a quick glance and a hasty apology at getting in his way.
“Oh, beloved, you cannot know how good it is to see you,” Tigerlily murmurs warmly as she tucks her chin over his crest to hold close the stallion she considered a son despite the fact that there was no blood shed between them, except that for which they’d shed while fighting alongside one another to protect their family from dangers in the northern lands where they’d roamed. He’d not changed in the few months since they’d last been together (no, she was the one that had done the changing, kindling the life of the stallion’s little sibling within her, keeping the unborn child safe while it grew strong).
All the same, she takes a moment to examine him, checking for fresh injuries and new scars, softening with maternal concern. She sighs in relief when she finds no major wounds. But when she pulls back, her face creases in worry. “Is Mjölnir not with you?” Sigurðr’s cousin is a gentle soul, but he is not incapable of protecting himself. Tigerlily can only hope that, wherever he was, he’d be safe, and that he’d find his way back to them before too long. “I tried to find you after the storm separated us on the Mainland, but I knew I’d have a better chance of finding you here.” It was the plan, after all. Tigerlily hadn’t intended to join the pair who were returning ahead of the rest, but, fate had other plans.
“You’re going to Atlantis first?” Once she’s settled beside him, Tigerlily turns to glance sidelong at him, a smile curling easily across her lips. “I would go with you, but…” The dreams she’d had, for some time now, of the mountain just north of them, had only become more insistent. There were answers she needed to seek, but when her fjölskylda needed her, she would not let them down. But right now, right now, she would be glad of this time with the valiant stallion beside her, though, there was something…
Following her instincts, she cast a meaningful look at Sigurðr as she heads for the path the younger, silver maned stallion had continued. “Wait, please!” she calls, and when he turned back, or she managed to catch up to him, the buckskin mare would spend a moment observing his features in an attempt to figure out why there was a niggling sense of familiarity about him. “I remember you,” Tigerlily studies his face with gentle curiosity. And then she finds the memory, shies away from the prickle of hurt and guilt combined. “You were there…” She turned about, to see if Sigurðr had followed, and found herself murmuring beneath her breath. “He was there.” Gaze shifting back to the bay sabino, Tigerlily shifts her weight, and then settles. “My name is Tigerlily. You probably don’t remember me, you were only little when your mother came to the Inlet. Who are you?”
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