The winding goat track which linked the old redwood forest to the vast, wild world beyond (in fact the only other area she had thus far visited, just to the south), wore upon its hardened surface the scars of many hooves; more horses than Hildegunn could have imagined existed in any one place. It was winter time when last she had ventured along its length, late in the season, and thawing snow had turned stiff clay then, to a rather slippery kind of mud. Now however, she found it to be far less precarious and concentrated her attention more on the brighter scenery surrounding.

Trees dotted along the way were not as stark naked as before they had been, gnarled arms reached high to capture the gloriously rich sunlight’s descent; new emerald dress upon them, flapping and fluttering noisily as the warming wind harried their rest. This spring time was like nothing the stout mare had ever witnessed before, and the curiosity etched thoroughly into her young, expressive countenance seemed never to weaken.

It was mid-afternoon and the burning, orange sun slipped slowly ever downwards through an endless blue sky. Paler primitive markings across both the young Fjord’s flanks and girth, were dimmed heavily by sweat caused by the exertion of one fit for the bitterest of climates, drawing it out of gaping pores like lava from a  deep volcanic fissure. She was fairly tired and not quite certain why she had deemed such an excursion from the cool, moist comfort of the bamboo labyrinth, to be necessary at all.

There was reason enough nestled in the idle recess of her mind - it was where she had found life, company, for the first time after a journey still longer than three cycles of the moon, and inwardly she was desperate to find her dear brother there in much the same way. Surely he too had washed ashore; Hildegunn prayed yet for his welfare with faith undeterred, despite Skjoervø’s divine triplets all but abandoning her tribe.

She hadn’t progressed particularly far when movement ahead (more or less), attracted her attention. Another lingered not far from where she drew to an easy halt - she could see easily that he was a good size larger, both in barrel and height. Flaxen locks formed something like a halo about his enormous skull, veiled too across it’s face and all in all, the affable girl imagined him to be rather a lovely sort; presumably his nature would be similarly reflected. With a quiet snort, tongue smacking against sooty, grinning lips, she began her approach calling out as she went, “Hei vandrer!”