The scent of blood on the wind is the young mare’s first warning that something is amiss. As always, Ryvar woke early before the sun rose above the horizon to visit the highest peaks. There was not many things on this island that brought her joy but watching the sunrise was among her top pleasures. There was something about the way the winds, stronger the higher up she dared to venture, whipped around her body, twisting and winding through each one of her obsidian tresses as though promising to lift her to the heavens if only she dared to jump. There was something beyond freeing about watching the distant seas glitter as the sun lit a path over the glistening surface, as though promising if only she dared to follow she might find something truly amazing awaited. False promises she knows, but that does not stop the young woman from finding joy in letting her imagination take wing.

But this morning, it is the scent of fresh blood that stops her progression up the mountainside. Raven-tipped ears stand at attention amid the tangle of her obsidian mane as Ryvar turns her piercing gaze back down the mountainside, searching for the source of the offending odor. It is not uncommon for mountain lions to make their kill of goat or deer among the peaks. However, she had taken it on herself to ensure that the felines were sent bounding far away from where the Peak mares tended to gather. Though she had not personally noticed any mare’s bellies growing with unborn foals over the past winter, that did not mean Ryvar was willing to risk a potential attack.

All thoughts of her morning ritual are forgotten as the mahogany woman pivots on her heels and makes her way back down the winding path at a clipped pace. Nostrils flare paper-thin as she inhales breath after searching breath, working to pinpoint the direction of the scent. When finally she breaks through a stand of cedar trees, source is clear. Mother and wobbling child teeter on the flat, rocky surface above, causing Ryvar to immediately jump into action. A bugle of warning escapes her parted lips as the dark, crimson woman closes the distance of space between herself and the wounded mare.. ”What happened?!?! Who… or what did this to you?” she asks by way of greeting, her dark brows furrowed with concern as she lowers her muzzle to sniff carefully over the filly. Relief swept through her that the child seemed utterly unharmed, but the mare was a far different story. Despite taking note of clear indicators that these wounds looked to be a result of horses, Ryvar still feels the need to hear it. Must hear it. Who would dare to harm a mother with such a young child at her side. ”You are safe here. No one will hurt you again.” she growls, the words as much a promise as a vow.

RYVAR

Ee Aa / mare / 15hh / Khyber x Khar'pern