No one had anticipated such a savage, bitterly-cold winter - punishment, they could only suppose, the reason for which still seemed as obscure as the infinite wall of white cast so mercilessly upon them. It seemed not to matter the urgency of the prayers lifted to heavens’ breast, nor the painstakingly gathered offerings of frozen rowan berries, preserved leaves and the like (at the selfless expense of their own nourishment); the goddess Skaði would not relinquish her grip over Skjoervø. She was angry, they feared, and her sister was presumably to young to sway the older’s fierce enchantment. So too had their marvellously coloured sky been silenced - each night was frighteningly dark, longer than the one before, and often Hildegunn feared that the light of day might soon fail to rise altogether.

Nervously the small tribe waited, breath baited, willing desperately the return of Ēostre’s warmth, and with it, the new spring growth which would in turn bring them all back to health. Soon however, the young girl’s worry became their grim reality. Two long winters persisted with no summer to break the growing depression, the great darkness which felt to the lingering, wearying tribe like the horror of death itself. It was a phenomenon rarely seen - a once in a lifetime occurrence, and not even the tribal ancients (the oldest and wisest in Skjoervø) could recall the last of its kind. Still, they pleaded and begged for respite, ever faithful and diligent in prayer, trusting that Skaði would one day forgive their sin.

”Hildegunn, kom hit,” a revered ancient summoned, and a vaporous sigh billowed tiredly from his sodden nostrils. Perhaps the cold had been felt hardest by these old souls, bones as brittle and aching as the spent minds wielding them. Hildegunn stepped from the group - the arc of faces peering through blackness towards those who were fabled to have the closest ties to their deities. Many other young horses too were named and in turn called forth from the stew of bodies; they were fit despite their hunger, burly and ripe. Their end had not come, their time of salvation was nigh...

”Du hvert må reise nå utover våre hjem - fra Skjoervø. Jeg frykter Skadi og Eostre har forlatt oss selv om jeg ikke kan si hvorfor. Bare tanken på døden venter på deg her, så du må kjempe havet i øst og finne et liv i verden utenfor. Ta med deg vår kultur; vår tro og du, vår hukommelse. Ikke la oss visne inn i tomrommet av glemsel unge. Hold sann og sunn, og slitasje trygt styrken i vår stamme. Kan gudinnene lede din reise.” The shrewd stallion paused to swallow the hard bubble of grief rising through his gullet - the elderly, the ill and the meek should instead stay behind and face cruel starvation.

'Take with you our culture; our belifs and please, our memory. Do not let us fade into the void of oblivion young ones.' The thinning girl shivered beneath matts of heavy coat as the chilling words rolled with echoing morbidity around her mind; she knew the fate of their tribe well enough, but truth of any plausible future, of her life beyond now brought no sense of comfort to her miserable soul. It was in truth, the end of a civilisation, but Hildegunn would not let the legend wither - ever…

And so it came to pass that the young Fjord spilt forth upon the sands of a distant nation, a world so far apart from everything familiar and fine; still wilder than Skjoervø, confronting and new. It seemed the winter followed too, though to a much lesser degree. Beneath feral forests with arms still clutching fine hair, sour grass persevered in slim shafts of weak light - sunlight, how grateful she was to again find its company, and also that of each now returning day.

She stood at last, well sheltered in a copse of woody timber, cosy enough, wrapped in her dense winter coat, remarkably well adapted to life in the most bitter of climates. Dark earthy eyes fluttered vaguely between opposite, alternate realities, bathing in rich sunlit dreams whenever the harsh sting of blustering snow became too uncomfortable. It was a world she knew intimately and where another might have shivered and snivelled misfortunately, Hildegunn’s mahogany smile drifted tranquilly. There was no doubting the night would soon pass- it was merely a matter of biding her time, or so she trusted.

Surely the glistening warmth of Ēostre’s spring was waiting just beneath the shadow of the horizon to the east. The sky at that moment was still an uninspiring wash of dull black, devoid entirely of the wonderfully exciting wink of silver starlight, and looked horribly empty without the soft milky glow of the old crescent moon; upon it she gazed hopefully, lifting forth prayer towards those who’s eerie silence remained. The heavy carpet of cloud smothered the night and all the earth beneath seemed strangely still and silent, waiting with baited breath perhaps, for the mutually anticipated end of the taxing, bleak cold.  

Small Hildegunn looked forward to the return of long, bright and comfortable days; sweet, juicy sprouts persuaded out from the safety of hibernation by the new season (easily the most exciting feature) and emerald buds bursting to life upon stark, naked boughs. She remembered well the whimper of new life, and the rich taste of it too upon a smooth, warming wind- springtime indeed (no matter how mild), and it was to those pleasant promises that the shaggy-coated mare’s mind wandered as another wave of snow began to sweep down from the sky.

When first light did finally signal a new morn, the wanderer had fallen into blissful slumber and it was only at the sudden pitch of strange voices nearby that she stirred. Dark, hairy ears stiffened forward quickly, curiously, and caught the unfamiliar tongue of both male and female present. None of what she heard was comprehensible, and though disappointment strained her searching eyes briefly, the tawny horse straightened her resolve. Hurriedly she shook her stiff body and stepped then from her cover..

“Hei!” Hidegunn sang out eagerly through the frosty air, determined that the foreign duo should not slip away without first pointing her in the right direction (not that she was overly certain where from here she should be headed…) ”Jeg frykter jeg har blitt tapt! Er du kjent med disse delene?” Rich brown eyes thoughtfully surveyed first - the solid stallion, mottled skin rippling across his heavy bones much like the beloved lights of old Skjoervø, alive in the vast night sky. There was tension through his posture she felt (the jaw dangling betrayed this more than anything), and she turned then to view the raven-cloaked mare a little closer - she was radiant, composed, everything he seemed to lack; and the eyes set upon smooth features were as startling as they were entrancing. Never had the simple girl beheld anyone so… unique.