For several months she had been but a fallen leaf at the mercy of the wild wind, stepping obliviously between hemisphere’s, from one freezing winter into the next (eternal the season did seem); searching a vast and rugged continent, that before had nary existed outside the strangest of dreams. All Hildegunn had ever known was the Nordmandsvik archipelago - a tiny island on the brink of the world, which had always harboured the very ancient line of her clan. To find herself in a world so enormous was both wonderfully exciting and painfully intimidating, but accountability motivated her stride forward through the tides of grief and uncertainty that doggedly pursued her mind.

Despite the phenomenal length of her journey - the forests navigated and fields covered, the young horse had found no trace of distant kin. Wolves, deer and more unusual wildlife had crossed her path, but never had another equine been discovered. It was unnerving loneliness which began to spill into her thoughts, worry that the tribal ancients misunderstood the land beyond Skjoervø, and that she might now find the slowness of time as her only companion, forevermore. It was a terrifying concept for one born into the fond breast of intimacy. The life of a rogue was an idea as foreign as the old redwood labyrinth she had come to pause within - the folk at last found…

It seemed that here, equine brethren were about as numerous as elk upon new spring grass.

You will not fade, Hildegunn’s heart murmured gently as her large, warm eyes switched again between her company. She had indeed arrived, and this was not oblivion. The male spoke first, his tone unmistakably agitated, and the pale-brown coated girl flinched cautiously in response. His language was quite unlike her own and stable, standing ears swivelled to find the other before the turn of her stiffened expression. The mare stood as though frozen, but it wasn’t fear radiating from that striking blue stare. Soothing softness served to loosen the tautness from the two-year old’s skin before even she had become aware of its presence - nervousness that had stalked from the moment her salt-soaked carcass had washed ashore.

The tongue of the night-cloaked female again graced the air and despite her lack of comprehension, the younger regarded each sound, each curious syllable, with unwavering focus; the other mare turned at last and addressed her as though to conclude. A smile, puzzled, but pleasant nonetheless lifted her tapering muzzle a little. I do not understand, she answered in thought alone, before eyes swerved back towards the stallion (distracted only briefly by the sound of snow plunging from the ratty canopy overhead). She noticed something about him then that had been before overlooked.

”Hva er dette?” she pondered well beneath her breath, narrowing in on the very avian feathers he had tied with rope (or similar) to his sides. With somewhat of a bewildered quirk marring her otherwise flawless face, Hildegunn lifted her eyes towards where his supposedly lurked beneath a heavy, obsidian veil; for a second she thought she found glinting lavender gems in their stead. The youngster thought suddenly to bite herself - force herself out of this nonsense dream and back into the cosy reality Skjoervø offered. Feeling a little foolish, she retired in lieu back to the mostly humble appearance of the mare - but alas there was more to her also than previously perceived. Around her neck was sewn a silvery-slack vine, and upon her bosom (at the adornment’s lowest point), was hanging a stone as brilliantly blue as her eyes.

For a moment there was deafening silence as each party seemed paused to behold the other.

Bird’s wings brushed the frosty air above and sooty nostrils lifted rapidly to greet the descent of an oversized eagle - one who rapidly took on the identity of a winged one-of-their-own. Hastily she slipped a second questioning glance by the stallion’s attire. As the new female came gracefully to earth near Hildegunn’s side, the little fjord studied shamelessly the extent of oddities displayed across her and failed in turn, to notice the same being done to herself in much the same moment. It was funny - the cool, quiet ambience surrounding, at least it had seemed mute enough until the arrival of the half-bird. The forest seemed at once to stir curiously out of its  winter dormancy, and even as chocolate eyes strayed towards creaking branches, she might have sworn that buds, before which had not existed, now decorated the boughs overhead; despite the miserable cold, the world seemed to brighten. A warbler broke into bright chorus somewhere nearby.

Another bout of pensive hush before the newest among them adopted herself into the conversation. The language she brought seemed similar again to that being used in part by the stallion and wholly by the black (the pale spots upon whom she was yet to notice), yet still the young foreigner knew not what they were conversing about. It was rather a frustrating issue, but she settled back across burly haunches to centre her attention alternatively on each tone presented, their glance and movement. It seemed to her like the bird-girl was gesturing word in her direction, though discreetly, and she wished earnestly with a brave smile that it made sense - even maybe just snippets here or there. ”Aye,” she hummed blankly and with some reserve as the other shifted nearer. There was no hostility in the mellow caress of the other's speech, so that was reassuring.

The stallion at once dismissed whatever had been mentioned and Hildegunn’s sturdy hips rocked as the hooves beneath shifted rest from the left to the right; there was no doubting the rising chill in his exposed glare before its attention shifted to the white forest beyond. With growing interest, she looked to the other mare - the first. She was considerably more composed which lead the listener to wonder just what had prompted the stallion to react with such vehemence. Finally she switched focus back to the young winged one, rich brown eyes sparkling with intrigue as she awaited the response.