Spectre
10 Years Old~Jotunheim King
Mentions: The Jotunheim herd
Tagged: Nanami
The situation was a bit of a bleak one, in Spectre's opinion.
Staring out of one of the caves of the tallest mountains of Jotunheim, Spectre contemplated his options. It'd been a few minutes since a swallow had landed on his muzzle, having specially sought out his herd to impart it's message. Head to Drasil.
Which was easy enough to say, but as he thanked the swallow and watched it depart, the morning sun casting it's feathers with a hue of golden, he let himself acknowledge the fact that it was going to be a hard task to do.
It had been a hard winter, and Jotunheim was not known for being a land of plenty. Luckily, most of the horses had been used to scarcity, and so they'd scraped through, making ends meet here and there, and they were almost through. But the winter seemed to have another ace up it's sleeve. From a day ago, there'd been a snowstorm that had whipped up, snow that sliced your face and smacked you in the eye and winds that viciously tugged at the fur.
So far, Spectre and Nana had lead them into the caves to find some solace, but the snowstorm had gone on for a while, and from what the swallow had to say, it looked like it would only get worse for the herd if they stayed on. But the winds were vicious, the journey would bring it's own troubles, and he would have to see the other herds again and possibly get challenged... Spectre allowed himself a disgruntled huff, looking over his herd.
They had not survived without casualties. There were no youngsters this year, the young ones all having been lost to nature. Abelia and Aune were starting to thin, their bones starting to show through their coats, and even Rholio was starting to look a little lean (honestly that was what scared Spectre the most, he'd never seen Rholio quite this thin, even though what was thin for Rholio was still relatively substantial).
And then there was Nana, standing stoic and beautiful as ever by his side. She was the smallest of them all, but her personality and attitude made her seem large, and if she disagreed, he wasn't going to go against her, warnings of the Gods or not. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to do himself. Taking a breath to collect himself once more, he turned to her, his beautiful lead and trusted keeper of his heart and tried to smile.
"Moon of my darkness, the weather is terrible, isn't it? My mane will never get untangled in this wind. How will I aspire to be the prettiest of us all now?" Letting out a dramatic, aggrieved sigh, he looked at her, before at the rest of the herd. It was common knowledge that a large herd meant one was favoured by the Gods, but Spectre had never focused on that. He simply called those he felt drawn to, kept those he wanted by him close. They were all his loved ones, and he would do everything in his power not to let them die, even lay down his pride. Turning back to Nana, he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Shall we go to drasil for a vacation? I think a change of scenery will do us all some good." In a light tone, he proposed his decision, before looking towards Nana, wondering if she would agree or decide for them all to stay.
Runa
2 Years Old~First Heat, stage 1 just beginning~
Mentions: Muspelheim herd
Tagged: Siv
Runa did not like this cold. Born at the foot of a volcano, Runa was used to ash, used to change and the volatile balance that life always lay in- had even learned to love it. As such, she marveled at the shifting seasons, was willing to acknowledge that winter had a strange, fragile yet strong kind of beauty.
That did not mean she had to like it.
Shifting closer to Siv, Runa pushed her nose into Siv's flank, protecting it from the biting snow and wind. She did not remember last year being quite this cold, but then again her memory from her youth was a little hazy. Or maybe last year was the exception to this chill. She remembered a cold that had hung in the air like a tense pause, like the earth itself was holding it's breath.
But she did not remember a cold that tore at the mane, that bit and howled. It was fascinating in it's savagery, but Runa would have much preferred to be watching it and admiring it's beauty from a distance. Whickering to Siv, she spoke, her voice muffled in Siv's fur. "Ma, is winter always this cold?"
