❝⌘▁𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬 - o p e n !

[na'vi.]

« 𝘝𝘌𝘚𝘜𝘝𝘐𝘜𝘚 »
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stallion ⋅ 23 ⋅ messenger ⋅ earl ⋅ mares. duvessa & leucothea
loc. drasil ⋅ mood. weary ⋅ tags. duvessa & thea ⋅ ment. herds
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The gifts often times felt like a burden. The three of them combined were the all knowing, in times of disaster all of the herds sought their council and warnings. Though Vesuvius had long thought that the two mares had the lion's share of the gifts. He bore witness to the draining effects the visions had on Duvessa. Then Leucothea who could tell the fate of pregnant mares, it was a joyous but painful gift. Telling a mare they'd lose their unborn foal always brought a number of varying reactions, some with sorrow and grief, others with aggression and hate. Yet here he stood, whispering to birds and nothing more. Vesuvius would be lying if he said a small bitter seed hadn't been planted in him that he couldn't try and ease their duties, but all the same the stallion knew the gods wouldn't have bestowed their gifts if they couldn't withstand them, which was something he found unspoken solace in.

A warm touch against his chest brought an affectionate rumble form the stallion as Thea came into his view, in her closeness her frame no long a hazy shape but defined. The soft dips of the mare's frame that he had come to appreciate and her cremello pelt that threatened to fade into the white expanse that was the snow, she was unmistakable. Vesuvius touched his own muzzle to her withers affectionately, his ears flicking gently at her words and he merely nodded in agreement. His own two sons would be upon them shortly, Arkyn with the might of the ocean at his hooves and Ferox with the heat from the volcano. The fate of his two eldest sons was always of much amusement, and pride, to him. Two stallions much alike, but different in their own rights, both born of the volcano but reigning supreme in lands that were opposites of eachother. Vesuvius would've never thought one of his children would grow to read the ocean's crashing waves, but fate had many twists that one couldn't expect. Though now fire, water, mountains, and moors would come to meet at Drasil. Four Kings. Four stallions. Vesuvius would force a truce among the Kings, it would be foolish to make enemies in a place that the gods themselves called you to.

The sure words that left Devussa caused him to look at her curiously- she always mystified him. Even after so many years spent together. Sometimes Vesuvius swore that Devussa as indeed Vor reincarnate. She was wise as ever, and often the calm in a storm even if she was to waver she'd never let on that she was. His gaze wavered from her to Thea as they walked and a soft smile rose tot he corners of his muzzle. Perhaps both of his mares were goddesses all along and he'd never known. An amused breath left Vesuvius as the thought lingered in his mind, milling over his words before he spoke. "We will force a truce. Drasil is a place that isn't meant for Kingly squabbles over valkyries and angels, they are coming on the invitation of the Gods. They'd be wise to respect it lest Thor and Skadi decide to worsen the storm." His tone was firm yet filled with a soft kind of amusement and he pressed his own side to Duvessa's, lipping at her mane with a youthful playfulness in an attempt to lighten the mood.

A wild hair suddenly itched on the stallion's pelt and he lurched forward, tossing his head into the air and letting out a hearty neigh he streamed ahead of Duvessa and Leucothea. Each large hoof struck the ground and in it's wake several small blossoms shooting up from the ground and petals swirling away from several of them before falling back to the ground. Vesuvius tossed his head, looking over his shoulder towards the to mares with a warm twinkle in his eye as he peered at them, beckoning them both to run. They themselves were in no particular rush but a youthful liveliness struck the stud as he tossed his head, pivoting to a stop to arc his neck and paw at the ground. His tail lashed against his hocks as he watched them, egging them on to join him in lighthearted play.

His coltish antics came to a screeching halt as a distant yet familiar whinny stretched across the lands, one belonging to a stallion and soon one of a mare followed. The calls of a King and Queen with their herd. Vesuvius was instantaneously upon Leucothea and Duvessa again, nudging them softly on their flanks to usher them closer together. Even though the Chosen were essentially untouchables he was still a stallion with two mares of his own. He put himself squarely between the two and the oncoming herd, his ears perked and head held high, on the horizon he could see an obsidian figure break the hills, with a black mane and tail he was immediately calmed and dropped his offensive stance- it was Arkyn. His ears flicked and he let out a night of his own, a warm flush coming over his heart at the return of one of his sons. He had always been very bonded to his offspring, namely his colts, and insuring he helped to sculpt them into fine stallions to roam Elysia. Arkyn was one of his success stories and his heart soared with pride to see one of his sons once more.



« 𝘋𝘈𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘙𝘠𝘚 & 𝘔𝘐𝘋𝘈𝘚 »
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mare/colt ⋅ 5/1wk ⋅ lone valkyrie ⋅ heat. stage 2 ⋅ herd. none, yet
loc. svartalfheim cliffs ⋅ mood. defensive/cautious ⋅ tags. volker ⋅ ment. --
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The moment between dam and foal was always a tender one. Encased in a bubble of their own even the tormenting winds that ravaged Daenerys' frame couldn't break the mare's preening of her colt. Despite the freezing colt that bit at her pelt she felt a soft, bubbly, warmth as she groomed Midas meticulously. The colt himself had calmed considerably as he nursed, his tail wagging wildly and legs sprawled out in the snow to better his footing. Daenerys stood tall in the haze that was the blizzard, had she been all white she would surely disappear into the landscape, but instead she stood unwavering, her own partially golden frame blocking the winds from her colt. Her feverish licking of the foal's rump and sides were more for her than it was for him, it brought a warm comfort over her to care for her offspring. A distraction, if you will. When the preening stopped she angled her head upwards, peering at the sky that to anyone else was an angry twist of ever darkening clouds and a hazy of snow. Her thoughts come softly and lingered before leaving, like the ripples in still water during a gentle rainstorm. Where was Balder and all of his kindness when she needed him most? Why was she left to weather the storm alone with her foal? Was Odin so cruel as to let the other gods threaten the life of an innocent? Was this punishment for a transgression left unmended? Soon the thoughts faded into the background of her mind as she relented, her questions would go unanswered. The gods were as kind as they were cruel.

Amidst her pondering and affections her ever observant nature hadn't noticed the arrival of Volker himself, only hearing the sound of snow crunching under a hoof with her sensitive ears did she pivot to face the stallion. In the swift movement she forced Midas to stop suckling and the week old colt gave a petulant snort of displeasure before trying to continue to nurse, oblivious to the immediate danger her was potentially in. The action was met with a swift stomp of Dany's hind leg blocking the colt's access it was a subtle yet efficient way to force the foal to listen without letting her attention drift from the encroaching King. Several possibilities ran through the mare's mind as she faced him, despite not being able to see him she stared dead at him, her ears perked and nostrils flaring. She could back down, openly submit seeing as she was trapped between her and the lethal cliffs, but would her submission be taken as a sign of weakness? Would he think he could get to her foal if she relinquished herself to him? It was a possibility. A possibility she wasn't going to take.

Instead she stood tall, letting her frame show for all she was worth. The winter had been kind to her, while she wasn't as plump as she could be she was still lean and her legs rippled with muscle that could deliver a lethal blow if need be. The ever approaching steps of the King planted a seed of nervousness within Daenerys and she took a single step backwards, her head arching high. The soft mane of Midas tickled against her side as the colt seemed to notice the stallion's frame breaking the white fog. He pressed into his dam's side with a nervous nicker that was met with a reassuring nuzzle to his chest from Dany. The stallion's warning neigh was met with one by Dany. Though hers held a different meaning entirely, it was warning for him to keep his distance. Perhaps this is what it felt like when a bird's wings were clipped. She wasn't ignorant to the fact she was trapped between the King so had evaded too many times to count, even when heavily pregnant, and the treacherous cliffs that laid behind her with a gaping mouth ready to swallow any unfortunate soul who slipped over the edge.

His voice met her ears and her ears perked. He knew the gods. The mention of Loki nearly had her laughing, it would make her laugh if the circumstances were different- but alas they weren't. Despite his quaint words he was still very much a threat in the new mother's mind, but she wasn't going to seem prudish. "Bragi has always taken to my side, though he seems absent in the trickery of Loki you're correct." Her voice was soft and smooth as she spoke, a white breath escaping her muzzle before it twisted and vanished into the air around them, "Loki finds dabbling in the affairs of the mortals amusing when Forseti can't be there to bring justice to his tricks." The two gods, Dany liked to think, were often in disagreement with eachother. One a goddess of justice and the other a god of games, tricks, and tomfoolery. Amidst her quaint words a feeling of unease grew- she didn't have Atreus by her side to guide her anymore. He couldn't come in and sweep her away from the predicament she was in. She would be forced to be more blunt than her true nature. "Who are you? Why have you left your herd to pursue me, King?" the words came more harsh than she would've liked but she could feel her colt shiver by her side amidst their stillness and she'd already come to accept the fact that the gods were forcing her into either joining the king or death by the freezing weather or a great fall.



« 𝘙𝘐𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘠 »
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mare ⋅ 13 ⋅ lead mare of niflheim heat. pregnant, early/mid spring
loc. drasil ⋅ mood. nervous ⋅ tags. herd ⋅ ment. chosen
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Arkyn's soft words rested heavily in Ripley's mind as she trotted forward, the fading sound of the crashing waves instilling a tight feeling of panic. The sound was something she was so used to, the rhythmic clash of the ocean meeting the earth only to recede and do it all over again. Only when they ventured out did she notice the absence of the sound and almost instantaneously feel homesick. She was borne of Niflheim. Her earliest memories were playing in the shallows with the other foals of the season and later licking the salt off her pelt when she was dry. If the ocean flooded the wouldn't be able to return to its coasts for some time. Aegir was always temperamental after a flood, unpredictable in his ways it would be too dangerous to hug the coasts like they always had. Ripley came to a halt, pivoting and letting the small collection of mares including her daughter nimue trot past her frame she looked towards the coast. The ocean was still visible, just barely, at the sky line and a white breath escaped her frame as the snow fell onto her pelt.

An unsure glance was directed towards Arkyn with a sigh, "I trust your intuition always Arkyn, I just don't trust the other Kings. You know me to be a hermit, I worry that only Aegir will be in my favor this trip and we will be so far from his reach." Her words were gentle as she pressed her head into the curve of his shoulder. Her warm gaze lingered on the ocean for a moment longer before she turned away from her stallion with a warm whinny to the herd she worked her way back amongst them, pushing her way to the front she caught her daughter, Yuna, just in the corner of her eye and gave her a soft whinny before quickening her pace to a canter. She may have been heavily pregnant but she knew what the power of an entrance could make and if any other herds were already at Drasil she wanted them to hear Niflheim before they saw them.

The ocean's mist that shrouded much of their territory began to thin and you could feel the winds ease their torments. Just ahead in the snow a path of flowers erupted from the white blanket, it drew a curious whinny from Ripley as she stood over them, running her muzzle against the delicate flowers she squealed, The Chosen. She had never directly met them but she heard stories. Vesuvius was the chosen stallion, a former King of the volcano and the sire to her own beloved. Duvessa was a chosen mare, one of the two queens under Vesuvius' reign she was the one who had visions straight from the gods and Arkyn's damn. Then Leucothea, the cremello mare who knew all there was to know about foals. Perhaps meeting the small band would appeal to Ripley's faith in the gods that seemed to ever waver. Perhaps the hesitant believer would have more faith after her stay in Drasil?

Taking a few more long strides Ripley slowed the pace to one of a purposeful walk. Her mane and tail dragged in the wind elegantly as the lake came into view the scent of the chosen was unmistakable. Arkyn's call stretched across the lands and Ripley's own friendly whinny came shortly after. Within a few short strides the figures of the three horses came into view and she slowed to a halt, looking over her shoulder to beckon her daughter, Nimue, forward she whickered softly to her, "I want you to remain beside me at all times. You are young and an angel of Niflheim. You're priceless, and you have Chosen blood running in your veins. You must be cautious of the other Kings and their heralds." Ripley's voice was gentle yet stern. She didn't trust the other Kings as far as she could throw them- and that was not very far. They'd likely look for any chance to lure an angel of Nimue's caliber away and into their herds, this wasn't the time for such antics. She stayed still, glancing over her shoulder and tossing her head the slightest to beckon Arkyn forward before her gaze settled on Drasil again she peered around for a few moments, no sign of the other herds yet though she was sure they'd be close.



« 𝘈𝘜𝘙𝘖𝘙𝘈 »
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mare ⋅ 2½ ⋅ angel of svartalfheim heat.3rd stage, first heat
loc. svartalfheim > drasil ⋅ mood. excited ⋅ tags. birgitta ⋅ ment. --
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Aurora came running from the edges of the moors, her champagne pelt still managed to glitter amidst the dreary weather and a snort came from the angel as she bounced around in the snow. Clearly oblivious to the dangers that the snow storm harbored she tossed her head playfully, bounding through large drifts of snow that collected in the grassy plains she had proven herself elusive in the svartalfheim herd. Though she had no blood bonds in the herd it made it considerably easy for the dainty angel to weasel her way away from Volker when she desired to. Though she always returned when she needed to, or was called. Many would consider Aurora to be a ditz but the little mare was quite intelligible if given the opportunity and she wasn't blind to the red hawk that screeched over head across their whole territory. She heard of a fabled stallion who sent birds in time of disasters and she'd rarely seen red hawks in the moors. So she was now homebound, seeking out her herd for shelter and companionship.

It didn't take long for her to see Brigitta's jet black frame against the snow and she let out a warm whinny trotting up to the mare she circled tightly around her before siding up, offering her a friendly nuzzle. She cast a soft glance around, her ears perking at a trail of hoofprints that lead to the cliffs she cocked her head curiously, "Where did he head off to?" She asked softly her ears perking as she pivoted, her frame standing delicately as she peered out in the hazy expanse were Volker seemed to have meandered off to.

[evixtus]

ＦＥＲＯＸ ♛
xxxx ❝ king of muspelheim | age; fifteen y. | location; muspelheim > drasil
mares; tequila, siv | progeny; runa | tags; herd | mentions; vesuvius

The large bay pinto stallion overheard Siv’s conversation with Runa about the stallions, and he began to mentally agree with the Appaloosa mare, yet he didn’t voice his opinion. His feelings of the events unfolding were obvious anyways, at least to his herd members. Those outside of the herd would barely be able to distinguish anything other than his obvious solitude personality, or nothing at all.

Ferox peered over his left shoulder to the clearing behind him, taking one last glance up towards Surtr as a bellowing groan rumbled from the pit of it’s belly. As the sound occurred, the snow covered peaks of the mountains surrounding it shook, and snow began to fall. There was a sudden lurch in his heart, and he roared loudly, slamming his chest against the hind end of Siv and Runa, forcing the duo to bump into Tequila, causing all to sprint through the snow. ”Run!”

The herd of Muspelheim fled for their lives, from once their sacred territory, prosperous with everything they needed, an assortment of forages, beautiful streams that ran year round, and thick pine trees that seemed to swallow the sky to protect the equines from the heat of the bipolar volcano and the summer sun. But as Surtr raged with the winter storm, it’s cries echoed across Elysian Fields, causing silence. The fields above Svartalfheim’s cliffs seemed to still, as if the world froze. The snow falling heavily through the Jotunheim ravines ceased their fall, and Aegir’s wrath on Niflheim’s beach dissipated, as if the god never existed. Vesuvius’ companions fled suddenly from the messenger’s side, vanishing into the underbrush of Drasil.

But as Elysian Fields seemingly returned to it’s normal abundance, the small herd broke through the trees into Drasil, huffing with flaring nares, pupils blown with adrenaline and shaking limbs from the fright.

ＬＥＵＣＯＴＨＥＡ ✜
xxxx ❝ the baptist | age; eighteen y. | location; drasil
status; heat 2 | progeny; n/a | tags; herd, niflheim, muspelheim | mentions; others

Leucothea had never been one of many words, hence why she didn’t give a vocal response to Vesuvius’ note of forcing a truce between the Kings of Elysia, instead a swift nod of her chiseled head. With audits curled hastily as she lead her small family towards the center of Drasil, she took a quick step to the side as Vesuvius barreled past her with the intro to enjoy themselves. Sending a mirthful glance towards her companion Duvessa, she threw her head and propelled her front legs off the snowy ground, a soft squeal escaping her velveteen lips. She kicked her hips up, being the youngest and currently still the better mover out of the trio, she didn’t get to enjoy comforting moments such as this with the chosen.

But soon her fun came to an end as she was swept up next to Duvessa, noticing Vesi’s instincts kick in to keep them close together. Yes, the three of them were basically incapable of returning to a normal herd life, not after the gifts that were bestowed upon them by the gods. As the Niflheim herd breached the hill into Drasil, she relaxed and lowered her head to snuff through the snow, hoping to find something to nibble on while they waited for the rest of the herds to arrive. Hopefully they would be there soon enough.

Possibly to prove her wrong with peaceful thoughts, a heavy rumble reverberated across Elysia. It caused the valley to fall silent, Vesuvius’ familiars scattering from the open meadow, the snow slowing its fall. The ground rumbled, causing all to lift their heads and look towards the looming figure of Surtr. The avalanche was visible, thousands of pounds of snow slipping treacherously fast down the face of the volcano, crashing into the trees with plumes of white powder lingering in the air. The echoes of the trees shattering underneath the plummeting substance caused coils to warp around Leucothea’s spine, and a sudden fear flashed through her blue eyes.

Without a second thought she was standing on the other side of the lake from the Niflheim herd, Duvessa, and Vesuvius. She hadn’t noticed her own maternal instinct kick in to check for the survivors, if there happened to be any. There was a heavy layer of silence across Drasil, until the images of Ferox and his mares broke through the forest line, their bodies quivering.

ＪＯＣＡＳＴＡ ☁
xxxx ❝ valkyrie of niflheim | age; thirteen y. | location; drasil
status; heat 2 | progeny; heat 2 | tags; herd, the chosen, muspelheim herd | mentions; others

[ no muse for her right now. just drag her along. absolutely terrified of what the heck just happened lmao]

ＢＲＩＧＩＴＴＡ ♣
xxxx ❝ valkyrie of svartalfheim | age; twelve y. | location; svartalfheim cliffs
status; gestating | progeny; expecting | tags; aurora, volker | mentions; the chosen

Her eyes shifted to the young angel that arrived at her side, a warm nicker escaping her lips as she nuzzled Aurora. The mare wasn't a foal of Brigitta's, but the black mare still thought of her as such. "I'm currently unaware," she spoke softly, her voice almost melting with the falling snow. "But I believe we'll figure it out soon enough." Lowering her maw slightly to nuzzle Aurora, she enjoyed the relative moment of peace as her foal stirred within her. Her teats were heavy with milk and aching with a need to be suckled, showing her signs that her baby would enter the valley of Elysia soon enough.

Though the moment terror swept over her due to the avalanche sliding down Mount Surtr, Brigitta balked, placing herself between Aurora and the devastation. Eyes blown wide with awe and fear, she swung her head to the side, over the angel's back, and whinnied fretfully for Volker, letting him know of the urgency to evacuate. If Muspelheim was already experiencing the devastation's that the chosen had forewarned them of, then it would be sooner than later that the other territories would meet the same fate.

ＡＢＥＬＩＡ ❀
xxxx ❝ valkyrie of jotunheim | age; nine y. | location; jotunheim
status; foal heat | progeny; deceased | tags; herd | mentions; muspelheim

Agony was fluctuating in her heart, one she had experienced time and time again. The loss of her colt, Eldero was hard on the young, deaf mare. For so many years had she tried to give her beloved stallion Spectre one progeny of theirs that he could be proud of. Yet, here she was, time and time again, having succeeded through her pregnancy, yet losing them either before they were born, or to the harsh terrain of the Jotunheim territory. Abelia always blamed herself, believing her disability was the reason she was a failure as a mother, the reason the gods wouldn't let her produce. Perhaps they were afraid she'd share her weakness with her own offspring, giving them the curse of deafness. But if they wouldn't allow her to bring life into Elysian Fields, why had they allowed her to survive? Maybe it was Hel's doing, she wasn't sure.

Eldero had been a beautiful and stunning colt, the spitting image of his sire, as well with personality. Though, he was born prematurely, Lia had taken it as a sign, that Freja had finally given her a chance to prove herself, to show the other gods that she in fact, could raise a beloved foal that would survive in Elysia. But her hope in fate was wrong, as the herd was unable to save his life as the nights began to get colder and colder. Once the snow had started, as the equines of Jotunheim surrounded the silver colt to give him their warmth, he still met his demise one Lia had felt everything was alright, and she had slept. To say that she hated herself was an understatement.

There was a familiar pattern in the vibrations of the earth that caught her attention, and she lifted her head, understanding that the call was from her beloved. Having grown up with him in this perilous landscape, yet with no blood relations, they had developed a code through their foalhood to communicate without words. Abelia loved him from the bottom of her heart, and although she couldn't hear his flirtatious and boyish personification, she could see it through his body language. Others of Elysia believed him to be one of the most irresponsible stallions, but she saw him as the strongest. His comedic nature always managed to make her smile, and his care for his family was unbeaten by others. Her love for him would never dissipate, even as she took her last breath.

As Spectre approached, she pushed into his embrace, wuffing softly under her breath in understanding as he nuzzled her, as he too, mourned for the loss of their herald. He took a step back, and her attention focused on his lips, watching as he enunciated his words to relay the herds next move for their ultimate survival. "I'm sorry, Lia. Let's head off, I'll be just behind." She nodded, touching her velveteen muzzle to his in a brief loving moment, before shifting away and ambling towards Rholio. Though, as soon as she reached the Brabant stallions side, and touched his shoulder with her maw in a gentle greeting, the ground underneath her hooves shook with a violent rage.

The palomino mare balked, stumbling onto her back legs as she cried in fright, bashing into Rholio's hip, keeping her from falling into the thick snow. Cerulean irises the size of saucers, her head snapped over her left shoulder so quickly it almost seemed her neck would break. The avalanche that swallowed the Muspelheim territory was a sign from Skadi, that the herds were being hunted, and many would fall to their demise if they didn't escape Jotunheim quickly.

Though she was young, Abelia swept up the herd around her, clustering them into a circle. She was in no spot to be lead mare, but as she stood with her head arched high, she knew these mountains the best, able to feel their next moves with the slightest vibrations in the ground as the winter snow trembled in the air around them. "I don't do this often," Her voice was low with caution, a tone rarely ever heard by her companions. "But we must move quickly, yet carefully. Speak in soft voices, stay close, head straight down the mountain face. If I send the signal, please, run for your lives." Her next move caused immense pain to course through her. She looked to her right hip, where Eldero commonly placed himself. She had gone to tell him that this was not an option to play, but as she didn't see his silver pelt pressed against her creamy stifle, her voice dropped completely.

[dilly]

♛ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ﴾ 𝕧 𝕠 𝕝 𝕜 𝕖 𝕣 ﴿

svartalfheim king | 16 | mustang | tags ; dany & midas

The stallion’s first thought, though maybe not the highest priority, was that the paint mare was a good mother. She was holding herself confidently, despite the turbulent weather and despite where she was standing, still far too close to the cliff’s edge for the king’s liking. He was only able to study her for a moment before he was meeting her eyes, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Blue, bright blue, but that was not what struck him, though it was a startling contrast against the whipped white of the snow, to be sure. Something swirled within that blue, something he had never before seen in all his years as king. He had known many mares, each one different from the next, and he had peered into the depths of countless eyes, but none like this. His very blood seemed to still, and he felt strangely as though he was looking into the eyes of the gods themselves. So piercing and vivid and strange, but he forced himself to regain his senses; this was a mare, a resilient mare at land’s end with her young foal, and those were the true facts. As his breath collected in a cloud about his red muzzle, he held his ground, not an ear twitching as he studied the pair. She had survived the winter quite capably, judging by her muscled frame, and he stood silently as he regarded her, his thoughts a hurried mess, under increasing pressure as the threat of the storm grew heavier. He was thinking of his mare, and of the hawk’s cold message, which left a lurch in his gut. They must move, but he would not be leaving without this mare.

In part because she had so maddeningly avoided him for so many moons, and the stud in him was savoring this moment. It would be brief, and everything felt suspended in the blizzard’s maniacal time, but he let his gaze rest appreciatively on the mare’s painted body. Only to be inevitably drawn back to her eyes, and he began to step in closer, as careful and disciplined as he always was, but he could not look away. She had returned his call with a defiant, clear message, and he lowered his head as he neared her, acknowledging the anxiety that must have filled her at having to travel with such a small foal. The stallion delivered a low, rumbling nicker to the colt, finding another pair of blue eyes in a pale face, and he quickly scanned the foal’s body to determine its health, as well as he could. He was an intrepid spirit, to be bracing through the storm at his mother’s side, and Volker lifted his head carefully as the mare spoke, his ears coming forward to snatch her words from the howling wind. The bleak white seemed to be deepening, and the sky growing more vengeful, and he needed to be escorting his mares down to Drasil, but no one should be left begging for mercy on the cliffs. As the stallion knew, they were rarely merciful.

He had spent many years working endlessly, feverishly, to appease the gods and earn their favor; his kingdom on the cliffside would fare far better under their watch than without it. And even so, he found his diligent respects often ignored, or worse, punished. The gods he knew were preoccupied and distant, or else they were entrusting him with burdens that he alone could carry, as the tests could often be cruel and shameful. His scant herd was a stinging example; how was he to achieve eternal honor for himself and his beloved mares? His mares had, as far as he was concerned, always been worthy of the gods’ kindnesses. Why he could only rarely please the gods, he did not understand. Such thoughts were more and more frequently darkening the aging king’s mind, and he felt his heart return to its old worried pace. The strange mare had asked him a fair question, and he met her eyes once more before answering, his own voice even and unafraid, despite the dark questions he asked himself. “The gods have always asked me those questions, the same as you, my snow bird,” he answered with the faintest tinge of grim humor. How could one thrive in this place without a sense of humor? “They have never allowed me easy answers. They bless me with a herd only to destroy it, and now they demand that I leave my home while they also draw me back to the cliffs, to glimpse a mare that I could never see.” It might have driven another horse mad, the endless loop of disasters and blessings without cause or reason, but the king had never believed, even at his lowest, that the gods would abandon him completely. They must have a plan for him.

Even in the midst of this storm, with the dangers that were to follow, and he lifted his head as he held himself proudly. Briefly dismissing his doubts, fulfilling his role as king, determination flickered in his dark eyes. “You and your foal must come with me to Drasil. Loki overestimates himself if he thinks he can threaten valkyries in Svartalfheim.”

[na'vi.]

« 𝘋𝘈𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘙𝘠𝘚 & 𝘔𝘐𝘋𝘈𝘚 »
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mare/colt ⋅ 5/1wk ⋅ lone valkyrie ⋅ heat. stage 2 ⋅ herd. none, yet
loc. svartalfheim cliffs ⋅ mood. defensive/cautious ⋅ tags. svartalfheim herd ⋅ ment. -
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The feeling of one gawking, staring, was one Daenery's had grown accustomed to. She had long outgrown the feeling of needing to prove her worth to other horses when they raked their gazes over her frame, looking for flaws and imperfections. She could feel his gaze that remained latched onto her, but it felt differently. She didn't get the sensation that she was being judged, inspected, instead she felt as if she were being appreciated. Like an elusive figurine. Knowing what those around her looked like was a right that was ripped away from her before she could even breathe, in times it left a bitter lump in her throat that was too large to swallow, but in other times it was a gift. She was unable to truly witness the terrors of the world. Never when she was face to face with peril did she freeze at the sight of it. Stories were told of mighty stallions and mares freezing when met face to face with a predator, the very sight of the danger rendering their fight or flight response useless. The after shock was her greatest enemy but in the spur of the moment she was always reactive and quick-witted. Yet now she stood in a delicate balance.

Trapped between three offenders, one that froze her skin and whipped her mane and tail with its tormenting winds, another that threatened to swallow her whole, and the last a stallion that had come to fetch his prize in the storm. Then it seemed as if for a split second that Thor's raging winds stilled and the sound of careful steps came towards her. She didn't waver but she did pivot, further blocking Midas and effectively making herself a barrier between he and her foal. Her trust, though delicately strung, ended at her foal. Daenerys couldn't see the lowering of the stallion's head but she wasn't oblivious to the rumbling nicker he let forth to which her colt answered with one of his own. The winds began again and for a sparse second Daenerys staggered as gale force winds erupted from the edges of the cliffs and battered her frame mercilessly. Her eyes squinted as stray hairs from her name and snow blew into them but in the quietness of the stallion she decided to step out on a tree branch. Her muzzle stretched towards him, her sensitive pink muzzle touched just at his jaw and she breathed in- a tentative offer to exchange scents.

There was a brewing sadness about the stallion in his closeness. Something far greater than finally capturing her occupied his mind. She didn't know what yet, but she was sure to find out. He presented a new challenge to her, a puzzle. With newer interests in play she pulled back, her tail lashing against her hocks a faint squeal of surprise left her frame as Midas effectively shoved himself under her belly, huddling under her frame for shelter from the biting cold. Dany wouldn't force him to move instead she simply stood quietly, listening intently as the King before her spoke. Snow Bird. A moniker so soon? She quite liked the sound of it though the hints of a smile appeared on her muzzle at his subtle humor. Within his words were hints, little bread crumbs, of information to what troubled him so. The gods. Though she felt her heart ache for his loss her reply came softly with a warmth in her voice that was absent in the barren snowscape. "Perhaps the gods haven't destroyed your herd. There have been great stories from the times of Valhalla of when the gods wouldn't intervene. Great herds, much larger than any here, fell ill. Their numbers too vast and too strong." A warm pride stirred within her chest, she was knowledgeable in the history of Valhalla. She had to be, her own breeding lines coming straight from them. "A culling is needed to maintain health, to insure only the strong and capable live to raise the next generation. Sometimes, Snow King, a disaster is a blessing in disguise." Her words hung in the air, like a feather stuck in time and without gravity to bring it down. His own nickname, Snow King, to mirror the one he had used only moments ago brought a light touch of humor to her seriousness that was dearly needed. Even amidst her subtle humor she hoped he would consider her view of it all, nothing was done without reason.

Even this blizzard had a reason, she had been forced onto him, filling in a void that his herd newly lacked. The sudden shift in mood by the stallion caught her off guard and his voice rang with a certain determination that intrigued her further. He sounded Kingly, powerful. Though the choice of location puzzled her the most, "Drasil? Why in Hel would you flee to Dra-" Her questions were broken off as her sensitive ears picked up on the sound of snow crashing down from a mountain. Daenerys remained rigidly still for a matter of seconds pivoting so she faced Mount Surtr. There it was another crashing of snow, snapping trees, and an eerie stillness across the meadows could be felt settling over her pelt. Even the ocean that sat on the opposing side of the cliffs ceased their attack on the rocks. Then a mare's hallowed call caught her attention and she shoved the King forward, giving Midas a gentle nip to the rump to garner his full attention her blue eyes searched the landscape blindly before they settled on Volker, "Loki is the only god in the skies now. We must go, now." Her tone was tense, highlighted with a gut wrenching tone of fear as she made her way towards the call of the mare, Midas in tow she edged over the top of a hill and paused intently, feeling a break in the weakened winds that lingered she let out a friendly neigh towards the to mares that stood there, hanging back just a few steps with her colt by her side.



« 𝘈𝘜𝘙𝘖𝘙𝘈 »
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mare ⋅ 2½ ⋅ angel of svartalfheim heat.3rd stage, first heat
loc. svartalfheim > drasil ⋅ mood. nervous ⋅ tags. brigitta ⋅ ment. --
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Aurora returned Brigitta's nuzzle with one of her own and a gentle affectionate whicker came from the young angel. She wasn't of Brigitta's blood, nor even Volker's, but Aurora had bonded closely with Brigitta when her dam died during labor just as she became a yearling. As the mare spoke Aurora lowered her head slightly, pressing her cheek to the onyx mare's swollen belly soft whuffs of curiosity came from the champagne mare. Foals had always been of much fascination to Aurora. Even the notion that Brigitta didn't know where Volker had skulked off to was of slight alarm to her but she wouldn't question it, she didn't see a need to. Instead she stood quietly, raising her head to groom along Brigitta's topline delicately. She enjoyed the soft comfort of the older mare, it helped to quell the abrasive nature of the storm.

Though tender moments rarely live long in the Elysian Valley. Terror swept across the lands, she could feel it in her bones. She could see it in the distance, the snow crashing down Mount Surtr and taking everything in its wake with it. The sight of everything in the adjacent territory being swallowed whole by the snow planted a deep seed of fear within her heart. Brigitta's sudden, and swift, movements broke her attention and her gaze, previously locked onto the destruction, now searched the landscape wildly. White rimmed with fear her whinny for Volker mirrored Brigitta's own and the petite mare pressed herself into the pregnant mare gently the stillness of the meadows creating further unease. Aurora hadn't experienced anything the likes of such phenomenon before and her voice cracked softly, "What's going on Brigitta? Have the gods fallen?" Her question to some would make her seem stupid and ignorant but the petite angel was simply young and riddled with fear of the unknown.

Just a matter of moments after their calls to Volker a stunning painted mare and foal came over the crest of the hill and gave a whinny of her own towards them. Aurora stared at the mare quietly, nudging Brigitta's shoulder curiously.

[dilly]

♛ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ﴾ 𝕧 𝕠 𝕝 𝕜 𝕖 𝕣 ﴿

svartalfheim king | 16 | mustang | tags ; herd

A herd of too great strength? It was almost a foreign concept for the stallion to consider, as it was strength and honor that guaranteed one’s revered place in the afterlife. Of course, he could not deny that she was right; the mortal earth itself could not sustain infinite herds. The grasses of the meadows that edged the cliffs of Svartalfheim could only support so many horses, though it was impossible to imagine them supporting anything for much longer, with how rapidly they were being devoured by the ravenous sheet of white. The painted mare’s scent enveloped the stallion’s muzzle, and his nostrils flared gratefully as he accepted it and shared his own. It was like finally glimpsing the sun after a long rain, she had evaded him for so long. He wished to take his time now in getting to know her, and understanding why she had resisted joining him, but there was no time. It felt that there was almost time for nothing at all, save retreat, and the stallion’s eyes traveled up to the raging sky before he spoke once more, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “A violent blessing,” he began to respond, his voice low as though to escape the notice of the gods, but once again, there was no time. His meadows were suddenly silent, the winds choked quiet, and that unsettling stillness that fell across the land fell across the stallion, too, his ears flicking to unpredictable Surtr. Disaster, and this one completely undisguised; he turned in the same instant that he felt the mare’s body pushing into him, casting a suddenly and intensely protective glance at the foal before charging ahead, bound now for his herd.

His ears came up eagerly to collect the whinnies sent to him: his valkyrie, and with it, unexpectedly, his angel. He let forth a resounding neigh, assuring them of his return, and slowed his nearly-panicked pace down to a lope, crossing the white ground to greet his mares. He needed to collect them close together and be sure everyone was prepared to abandon the meadows and the cliffs for the time being, a dark shade returning to his eyes as he knew they had no choice, and no promise that they would even have a home to return to. But there was proud Brigitta, and he trotted gratefully to her, curving his neck and touching his muzzle to hers so as to sweep in her scent. She was here before him, and safe, and he was not going to allow that to change. A quiet nicker escaped him as his breath came out in warm puffs, though his tail began to twitch with agitation, keenly aware of their dire situation. Then he was turning to Aurora, the resplendent little mare, and though his eyes were shadowed with concern and his brow furrowed, displeased that she had been away during such a terrible time, he could not help a tender nicker as he approached her. “Another blessing in the storm,” he murmured, touching his muzzle to the young mare’s neck gently. As he breathed against her champagne coat, sending quick praise to the gods for her safe return, the scent of her blossoming heat flooded over him. And with that fact came another one: they were soon to be in the sanctuary of Drasil, which could only mean the other kings and their herds would be there, too. Other kings and other heralds, all crowded too close together and all under tremendous stress, and he let out a protective rumble, nibbling possessively at the bright mare’s mane for a moment as he brooded. But all of his thoughts were tangled and snarling, and their choices were impossible, and he detested the thought of leaving their home, but the gods would not be bartered with.

Tucking his chin, frustration and despair conflicted within him as he lashed his tail and spun to face his small herd, he proclaimed the demand that had been left with him by the blood-red hawk. “We must depart immediately. Odin’s fury is turning murderous and we will only find safety in Drasil. It will be dangerous, but the gods are demanding that we run.” And run they would, and he stole one last bitter look at Surtr, wishing the gods had given him a foe he could fight with tooth and hoof, before turning with determination to his mares. “Run, keep together, and do not look back.” He strode purposefully to the paint mare, and while he realized that he had accepted the fact of her blindness without conscious thought, it had no bearing on where they stood now. She had proven, through her entire campaign of evading him, that she could hold her own. So, with a soft bump of his muzzle to her cheek, he offered a final bit of encouragement. “The sun will shine on your fine colt in Drasil,” he promised quietly, and then he dropped his head to graze his nose over the foal’s fluffy mane, a comforting nicker whispering free. But they must go – and he made sure to send his mares before him, as he would powerfully bring up the rear, a barricade between them and the fickle gods, and he would think of nothing else until they were, every one of them, safe from the storm’s strange, sacred rage.

[éros]

𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐀

( mare, 13 ) - ( lead mare of svartalfheim ) - ( heat stage 3 ) - ( tags; ) - ( ment; )

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Coming from the plains much further away from what she presently considers home, she wasn't all too familiar with the frightening turn that the weather had taken. Ellika, despite being quite a clever mare, was thrown into a state of confusion as the mildly cloudy, blue skies became a heavy and sodden grey that seemed to have no end. As perplexed as she already was, the temperatures were also dropping and her senses were going haywire, screaming at her to seek refuge anywhere other than out in the open- much like she currently was. Making the crushing decision their and then, she knew that she wouldn't be able to graze at her small meadow anymore. It had always been her secret little place, she had only shown it to friends and family from when she was a filly, now having no interest in sharing as it was the one haven she had. The meadow was hidden by a thick wall of trees and a cliff that stood at approximately five metres tall from the next level of ground. She was fortunate enough to have remained a lone mare this entire time because of the space so she was more far more than upset to leave it. Knowing that the longer she stayed, the longer she would hesitate and the more likely she would face danger, so she sucked it up and kicked her white hooves abruptly and calculated.

The sun was no completely invisible behind angry dark grey clouds, they appeared quite intimidating to the mare. Little specks of what should be white but appeared light grey because of the darkness, began falling and were visibly stacking onto the yellow-green of a new seasons grass. She was no fool, she knew what this what and what it meant, it signified the beginning of a period of struggling. The white specks were often followed by an entire hoard of them for an unpredictable amount of time, however, it just continued to puzzle her as she had never seen it snow during spring. In her old land, it didn't snow at all, or at least for the few years she was their. She slowed down trotting as she finally broke through the tree line, to the right of where she was would be prime predator areas and to the right would be a large body of water. Forward wasn't an option as it was mountainous and she couldn't risk getting caught up in an avalanche if she wanted to survive, so right was the only option. Drasil was the name of the enormous lake and she was picking up on a number of faint scents around the numerous paths leading their. The scent of mares in heat were the most distinct, she could only imagine how distressed the herds were considering it was the beginning of spring. She couldn't exactly pinpoint what herd it was because she wasn't familiar enough with any of them but she was going to rely on their better judgement and hope that where they planned to survive was one of the better options.

Ellika stuck to her gut and kept a decent distance from the lake, the last thing she wanted to do was to attract some herald or king, she doubted they'd bother snaking before they've completely reached the lake but she had to be cautious. It was completely out of her nature to be this serious but her instincts were kicking in due to the paranoia. Constantly being alert from directions that she wasn't even fully aware of was starting to take a tole on her, she was already feeling fatigued from the haste over to Drasil and her heat so it was taking everything in her not to drop her senses for a break. The amount of vegetation around Drasil was bountiful and a pretty good cover amongst the thickening pelts of snow that started to blur her vision and dull her senses, she was no longer able to smell specifics, only the faintest of suggestions that another animal was nearby not too long prior. Amidst all of the dread, she was filled with the feeling or irony as she peered back at her middle because the little flakes falling blended in with her original markings.

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𝐒𝐎𝐋

( mare, 14 ) - ( valkyrie of muspelheim ) - ( heat stage 1 ) - ( tags; ) - ( ment; )

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𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐀

( mare, 10 ) - ( valkyrie of niflheim ) - ( heat stage 1 ) - ( tags; ) - ( ment; )

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𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐊𝐈

( stallion, 5 ) - ( lone harold ) - ( bachelor ) - ( tags; ) - ( ment; )

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[lynettetan1]

Spectre
10 Years Old~Jotunheim King
Mentions: The Jotunheim herd
Tagged: The Jotunheim herd

Aune's question brought a grin to his face, but Abelia let out a cry, stumbling into Rholio and then rounding everyone closer together. Abelia never really took up the lead, often more than happy to follow Nana's directions, and her voice was so soft it was barely a breath, causing all the horses to lean in even as the ground shook. Her voice filled the air with whispered urgency, and though a friendly smile still stayed on Spectre's features, his chocolate ears were trained solely on her, and his eyes burned with their intensity. As she finished speaking, she looked at her hip, before her eyes filled with sorrow, and Spectre felt something dark and sorrowful grip at his heart.

But they'd all felt that tremble, and Spectre knew that there was no time for debate. Gently pressing his muzzle to Abelia's chest, before nodding firmly for them to get moving, he followed along quickly, nudging Aune beside him, shaking his head slightly in amusement at the irony. She'd asked if they could run, and it seemed like they might very well have to. Still, if he was to say something like that, fear would fill her, if it hadn't already. "Maybe, if you're not too clumsy from the cold," He teased quietly, shooting her his usual cocksure smile. "If you can keep your hooves stable the entire way down, I'll consider it."

As they drew near the bottom of the mountain, Spectre knew that drasil was relatively near. Whilst Jotunheim had water, which meant they didn't need to go to drasil quite as much as Niflheim, their home territory had little to no forage, and as such with the winter drawing to a close, Spectre had kept the herd near drasil, ready to return to the meadows once spring had showed it's face once more. It seemed a good idea too, for as their hooves touched the floor, Spectre felt the beginnings of yet another tremour, this one strong enough that he could feel it without even Abelia's help. He looked up, but the mountains still stood strong. They weren't in danger yet.

Still, knowing it was a matter of time before the mountains that had shielded them just moments before would become their doom, Spectre let out a whinny for them all to pick up the pace, lunging forward to the front of the herd and using his nose to bump Abelia's rump and push her onward as he did so, shooting her a gentle smile.

Letting out a buck and facing them to catch their eyes, Spectre gave them a teasing smile. "Cramped quarters made you all stiff?" With that, he shied to the side, before he pivoted, legs pumping as he ran a little forward, before turning and looking towards them with a teasing smile, waiting for them to take the bait.

Runa
2 Years Old~First Heat, stage 1 just beginning~
Mentions: Muspelheim herd
Tagged: Siv, Ferox

Runa had been nodding, taking her mother's words to heart as she'd caught sight of her father, and how his face was drawn into stoic approval. Then, she'd seen it change, go slack and then rearrange itself into an expression of horror she never wanted to see again. She'd seen her father angered, proud, despondent or even frustrated, but not this. Nothing like this.

As the sounds of his roar echoed round her, his force pushed her forward, and when the fear finally yanked at her muscles, Runa followed up on the movement and ran, her only thought to run after Tequila's retreating figure.

As they reached drasil, Runa panted heavily, leaning against her mother, her pupils wide and her nostrils flared. Her legs trembled, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down, but the thought of lying down and being left behind if they needed to run again struck fear into her very being, and Runa panted heavily, trying to suck as much air into her lungs as she could.

Still not sure what had happened, Runa looked toward Muspelheim. Coated in a sheet of white, it looked almost unrecognisable, all the land she'd traversed throughout her life now covered in an unfeeling blanket of white.

Not sure how she felt, nor even how she thought, Runa whinnied in pain and confusion, leaning heavily against Siv, before stretching her nose out toward Ferox, asking plaintitively for some comfort. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she wanted the ones she knew near her. She'd lived her whole life wishing for change, wishing for new things to happen, but not like this. Never like this.

[unnamed]

━━( 𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐘𝐍 )━━
the stallion of niflheim · 14 years
location: niflheim - drasil · tags: ripley, herd · mentions: callisto

They hadn't gotten far before Ripley had stopped and Arkyn could sense her uneasiness. She was born of the waves, it was all she had ever known and he was sure the thought of leaving it made her wary. It didn't help that there was the chance they wouldn't be able to return either, that they'd be stuck in Drasil as their home was flooded and left to soak in Aegir's anger. He slowed beside her, coming to stop with her while he motioned for Callisto to continue forward with the other mares. He breathed a deep breath, and pressed his head gently against her own, "I worry being so far from Aegir's home as well my dear, but we haven't a choice. He is a kind god but he is merciless as well and plays to his own drum. He will amuse himself even if it means we lose our lives, it is why his waters are undrinkable. The other kings will be kept at bay, especially with the Chosen there." He watched as she once again swiveled before retreating back to her place at the front of the herd. One last time the black stallion remained still, cherishing the sounds of the waves before he too turned to catch up with the herd.

Approaching Drasil and the Chosen he was pleased to see both of his parents calling back to him and his chest swelled with pride as he made his way to the front of the herd beside Ripley. For a moment Arykn existed in a simple bliss, his herd beside him while he stood proudly to once again face his father, the great king of Muspelheim who was hand picked by the gods as a messenger and protector. There was great pride in his lineage and all he had accomplished, and to have his father there to witness it was an even greater pride. Of course, the gods did not always like bliss and as though Loki had convinced them to disrupt the peace once more there was an indescribable crashing sound. A roar of the waves that could silence even the most boastful as behind him, despite their place on the hill above the dips of Niflheim the waves came upon them and wet their fetlocks before it rushed back into the land. Turning Arkyn could see the mighty waves now filling his territory, claiming them for Aegir as far away the ocean surged and crashed. A deep sigh escaped his muzzle as he nudged Ripley forward, "Come, to the Chosen we go. Niflheim is not home for now."

With the loss of Niflheim settling heavy on his heart the stallion stepped forward with his pride and his beloved herd, now headed to greet the Chosen who remained. He watched as his mother seemed to search for something and only moments later when Muspelheim arrived looking as though Hel had nearly touched them did he understand. She'd been waiting to see if the other herd had survived. Knowing he'd have his chance to speak with her later he settled on heading directly for his father and Leucothea, once close enough to be in speaking distance the king stopped and bowed, dipping his front legs until he rested on his knees before rising again to now look at them, "Father, I would like to thank you for warning us of Niflheim's dangers and the storms. We were all able to make it out safely in thanks to you."

━━( 𝐃𝐔𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 )━━
the chosen whisperer · 21 years · stage 1
location: drasil · tags: vesuvius, leucothea · mentions: arkyn

Duvessa could sense Vesi's curiosity over the sureness of her words, he'd always wondered over it but it was partially because he saw a side of Duvessa she rarely let others see. Underneath the calm was a mind that raced with a thousand thoughts and typically worried too much for her own good - a mother's curse. He as well as Leucothea were the only ones to bear witness to this side of her, to see the mortal beneath the Chosen. Though the moments were few and far between she always cherished them for when it came to address the kings and their herds she would have to remain stoic, an unwavering testament of faith in the god's plan and a beacon of comfort for all who may need it. For now though she put it out of her mind and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort that both Vesi and Thea allowed her.

Trotting past Vesuvius she returned to Thea's side where she slowed to match the other mare's pace. Though competition between mare's was often rampant, both for the position as lead mare and for a stallion's affection, Duvessa had never gotten that feeling from Thea. The two had always paired well together, often complimenting each other's strengths and making up for the other's weaknesses as well. They fit, like two puzzle pieces, which was perhaps a factor in both of them departing Muspelheim with Vesi. Duvessa hadn't had much choice, she was too old now to be of much worth to such young kings, but Thea had still been young enough to provide some use. However, leaving Thea would have felt like a burden and when both mares had made the decision to leave with their king she'd been overjoyed that she wouldn't have to part from either.

As Vesi spoke Duvessa glanced over her shoulder, first admiring the trail of flowers that sprung up behind herself and Thea before her eyes finally looked to the stallion as he approached her side, only to lip at her mane after he spoke. "You must warn your two sons than, Arkyn will likely seek his own private truce Ferox, regardless of whether he agrees or not. Spectre and Volker may see this as a potential-" her words were cut off at the sudden movement of Vesi and she chuckled with amusement as the stallion sprinted forward as though he were a colt once again. She watched with amusement as he stopped several yards ahead of them, looking back to encourage both mares to join him. Bumping Thea's shoulder she laughed softly once more, "Come, we can't be bested by the oldest of the three can we?" Without waiting for a proper response the mare surged forward as well, lingering to the side of Vesi's own path as she paved her own of fauna.

Of course their moment of youth was cut short as a loud whinny cut through the air, slicing through even the howling wind to alert them to another's presence. Instantly Vesuvius was herding them together, clearly not recalling who the whinny belonged to; Duvessa however could recall it fondly. Arkyn's call had always been distinct to her, deep and vibrating it carried confidence he'd had since being a colt. Sighing in frustration she attempted to move from his shielding only to be ushered back next to Thea. In an extremely rare display the mare reached forward and nipped at Vesi's flank, "That is your son." Her words were firm as she pushed from behind Vesi at the same moment that the Niflheim herd made its appearance. She called back loudly to her son, glee overcoming her though she remained by Vesi's side. She longed to rush forward and greet them, to treat Arkyn as her colt once again. However, he was a king now with mares to care for him and she had her own king to care for.

Elysian was ever restless though and the sounds of the avalanche were unmistakable. Pivoting on her heels Duvessa pressed forward, closer towards Muspelheim while her eyes remained trained on the tree line. Had Ferox ignored Vesuvius' call? Or had he perhaps been too late and his herd was now buried beneath the snow? Seconds stretched on for hours before the small herd finally crashed through the trees, panting and shaking with fear from the ordeal they'd just experienced. She glanced over her shoulder, only to realize that Thea had already rushed towards Muspelheim to look for survivors. She looked at Vesi, "We'll be back." Her long legs propelled her forward at a canter, hurrying towards the herd to ensure they were safe. Upon her arrival it seemed they were safe, a bit shaken, but safe nonetheless. "You're in Drasil now, take your breaths and calm your nerves. Here, with us, you are safe," her voice was low and soothing.

━━( 𝐒𝐈𝐕 )━━
muspelheim valkyrie · 10 years · stage 3
location: muspelheim · tags: runa, herd · mentions: none

The walk had been uneventful, simple conversation to pass the time between mother and daughter. It came to an end quickly though, there was a loud groan characteristic of only the earth beneath their hooves as vibration sent a rush of fear racing up Siv's spine. Her worries were only confirmed when Ferox's mighty roar sent her into an adrenaline rushed panic. Reaching forward she nipped Runa roughly on the flank and joined Ferox's own push with hers to rush her daughter forward as they suddenly collided with Tequila's backside, "Runa quickly!" Only waiting to ensure the message got through to her daughter quickly Siv raced forward, her shorter legs working hard to propel her forward and away from the snow packed avalanche that threatened to overtake them.

As they raced forward through the trees Siv stuck close to Runa's side until finally they emerged victorious through the trees of Muspelheim and into Drasil. She pulled in deep, panting breaths in an attempt to ease her racing heartbeat and quell her fear. As the first few seconds passed and her mind no longer operated on fear alone her maternal instincts kicked in and instantly she was circling Runa in search of any injuries. She lipped at every little potential scratch or bruise, including the one on her flank from where she'd been a bit too on the warning nip. Circling back she lipped gently at Runa's cheek, attempting to comfort the mare through her own panic and worry, "It's okay Runa, we made it out safely. We're okay." Of course Siv was a stern mother, not a comforting one, and she was ashamed to admit that her words likely wouldn't have been able to comfort her either.

Hearing a set of hooves approaching followed by a voice she finally pulled her eyes away from Runa's body only to find that two of the Chosen had approached them, Duvessa the whisperer and the Huntress, the baptist. Dipping her head respectfully towards both mares she busied herself again with grooming Runa's coat.

[dilly]

♣ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ﴾ 𝕣 𝕙 𝕠 𝕝 𝕚 𝕠 ﴿

jotunheim herald | 9 | brabant cross | tags ; jotunheim herd

The bulky young stud found himself being rounded up with the others to surround Abelia, and he immediately huddled in close, ears straining to catch the mare’s softly spoken words. Everyone listened carefully when she spoke, after all; she was tender and wise, and her words were always to be taken seriously. Not to mention the fact that she could read and feel the world in ways that the average horse could not, and with his body taut as the earth itself seemed to heave and groan around them, the stallion listened with worried focus to the mare’s instructions. Luckily he had been able to catch her against his robust frame with the violent shrug of the land, and he would aim to keep himself positioned to help the others if need be; it was a perk of being a huskily-built stallion, and as it was his duty to protect the herd, he was going to think of nothing else.

Bumping his nose forward to the mare’s muzzle in solidarity, he turned and began to resume the trek down the mountain, every muscle tense, both for another unexpected tremor through the land, and for a signal from Abelia. It was too dangerous to assume anything, despite how familiar they all might be with the terrain. And while they were all familiar with Drasil as well, having to wander to that spot for greater forage, there were bound to be unprecedented risks there, unfortunately. How often did the herds have to seek safety together, as they would know? There would be fear thrumming through every vein, as no one’s homeland was safe from the wrath of the gods. What had they done to deserve this punishment? The stallion’s brow furrowed as he wondered, and he carried his heavy body carefully over loose rock and gravel, glancing warily back at the looming mountain as though it might begin to rattle and shake again. They were vulnerable on the slopes, but he was roused from these distracting worries as his king let out a whinny, racing ahead. How could he manage to be cheerful and upbeat, even as the gods they knew and loved were behaving as erratically as a summer storm? The big stallion was often incredulous of the king’s antics, but he respected his timely good-humor and tireless effort to keep peace in the herd’s hearts. Trotting carefully forward, keeping all members of Jotunheim within sight, the watchful stud let out a reassuring whinny of his own. He wasn’t the most agile of the group, to be sure, but he tossed his head, grateful to be out of the storm’s immediate ire, and lumbered forward, nostrils quivering with a quiet nicker, directed at everyone and no one in particular.

Eyes scanning the dark trees as he headed after Spectre, he assured himself there were no lurking threats before looking back to be sure all were safely free of the rocky, icy ridge. He would keep himself between the herd and anything ominous, at all times; his imposing body, though a bit thinner than he was used to, thanks to a long winter, would serve as a hearty deterrent to anyone who might think of dropping in on them unexpectedly. The bay stud’s thoughts briefly flew ahead: how many horses, exactly, would be lingering in Drasil? He was a sociable soul, though he quickly doused this curiosity with a much more pressing necessity: foreign horses to stand guard against. And so, he carried himself rounded and collected, neck arched and tail held proudly behind, ready to herald the arrival of his beloved herd behind his king.


✻ ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ﴾ 𝕒 𝕦 𝕟 𝕖 ﴿

jotunheim valkyrie | 6 | dutch warmblood | heat ; 3 | tags ; jotunheim herd

It was nearly impossible to keep focused, but as the gentle palomino spoke, Aune found her feet beginning to still beneath her and her heart coming to rest from its frantic pulse. She was captive as she listened, and as she knew her whole herd was when Abelia spoke to them. The mare’s advice was sound, and for as frightened as she felt, and for as expectant and hopeful for Drasil as she was, an unpredictable surge of butane through her blood, the bay mare stood still and dipped her head obediently. Abelia knew the mountains well, and Aune trusted her; she trusted the mare anyway, regardless, when it came to just about anything. She had a kind heart and the fates had been unjustly cruel, but the bay mare trusted in the gods’ plan, and had decided she would simply do what she could for the palomino mare, if there was anything she could do at all. Sometimes it was best to stay quiet and out of the way, or, in times like this, to listen carefully and lay your life at someone else’s hooves. Abelia would not let them down. Settled by the mare’s hushed words, Aune turned again to follow the herd’s track down the mountain, placing her feet thoughtfully as she went.

Of course, this tranquility was transitory, and it was not long before her energy was up again, showing itself in the springing of her feet and the tense arch of her neck. Sweat was beginning to glow on her chest, despite the cold, and her ears perked as Spectre’s voice chirped beside her. Clumsy? She let out a playful nicker at the thought: rarely, if ever, did she feel clumsy. Energetic and vivacious, rather, and she did at times have trouble keeping tracking of where all her feet were or where she would like to place them next, but she was lean and limber and decidedly not-clumsy. Skittering across the rock, reaching level ground with a satisfied whuff, she hardly waited for the king’s whinny to scatter the snowy air before she was cantering ahead, relieved to have the earth stable once more beneath her hooves. The cave had indeed made her stiff: with open space now to stretch her legs, she relished the pleasure that warmed her muscles as they were at last able to find the freedom of motion that the cave had denied them all. She had not enjoyed the cramped hideout, anyway: movement was one of life’s greatest joys.

Throwing herself upward into a buck as soon as she witnessed the same antic from Spectre, she instantly accepted the invitation and raced forward, ears angled back so as to better cut through the air, ribs heaving visibly. Drasil was near, with its protection from the eerie, crushing storm, though she pushed those dismal thoughts from her head as she cruised ahead, mane whisking from her thin neck and her nostrils flaring wide and red as she drank in the crisp air that would guide them to their haven. Sending a teasing whinny back over her shoulder in response, determined to win the race, wherever it might lead, she carried herself across the grass on sure-footed hooves, proud now to display the fact, dark tail streaming behind. "Who's clumsy now?"

[na'vi.]

« 𝘝𝘌𝘚𝘜𝘝𝘐𝘜𝘚 »
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stallion ⋅ 23 ⋅ messenger ⋅ earl ⋅ mares. duvessa & leucothea
loc. drasil ⋅ mood. weary ⋅ tags. duvessa & thea ⋅ ment. herds
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Their rare moment of play had come to a swift end as they reached the very heart of Drasil. He'd have to propose the truce to each of the Kings, and while Duvessa was right to assume his sons would forge an alliance the unfinished sentence bared heavily on his mind. Volker and Spectre, the oldest and youngest of the kings, could see it as a move against them. When all of the herds arrived he would have to speak with them, perhaps find a way to corral the Kings into having a friendly chat. His thoughts, though rampant and numerous fled his mind in haste only to be replaced with shock as Duvessa landed a painful nip to his flank that forced a surprised squeal from the stallion, his head swiveling to look her the grey mare as she spoke. A soft fog clouded his mind as her stern reminder reached him. Light a spotlight peering through the dense morning fog the realization finally settled in and he nudged her shoulder softly, his memory had only recently started to fog, the small details of his life slipping away.

Soon his son came into his clearer field of vision, walking alongside a dappled mare who's belly hung low and wide. A soft warmth pulled at his heart, the sight of a heavily pregnant mare was a good reminder that amidst the nearly apocalyptic weather that life would still continue. Though the warm moment ceased to exist as Surtr give a loud groan that shattered the air around them, sending his familiars that often lingered in his presence fleeing. Vesuvius spun around his ears perked towards the distant volcano and eyes trained on the lands of his former home. Snow crashing down the mountain, once proud and strong pine trees snapping like twigs under the force, and the unmistakable sound of hooves fleeing the lands. His belly tightened and for once in a great time the proud earl's brown gaze darkened with nearly tangible fear. Surely the birds he sent to Ferox had made it there? His first born son would make it out alive. One of his two legacies would surface from the chaos- he had to.

As he stood, his hooves cemented with apprehension and devastation at bearing witness to the destruction of his first home just from the corners of his eyes he could see Duvessa and Leucothea run from his side towards the herd as they broke the treeline, a narrow escape from the white death that roared on behind them. A hot breath of relief escaped the stallion but he stood unwavering, his spine prickling with a sense of unease as the air around him being still and quiet. All signs of life aside from the labored breathing of his equine counterparts ceased to exist. His familiars gone with the wind, the snow stopped falling as if by magic and the faint sound of the rhythmic waves became still. Elysia was falling to the storm, succumbing to the elements and gods who threatened to destroy it. Once the storm raged on the territories would remain forever changed, never once how they were. The herds would go home to territories that would be a shell of the homes they once knew.

With a breathy sigh he turned back to face Arkyn and all of Niflheim. Despite his son's proud appearance he could see the heavy look within the King's eyes as he neared closer. The formalities between he and his sons always felt foreign to Vesuvius, perhaps it was because they were his blood. Though it never appeared so on the outside, Vesuvius had been an ever present and doting sire to his offspring, when safely tucked away in his home it wasn't uncommon to see him playing with his foals to give their dams a rest. Those memories, of his young life, had yet to be taken away by the gods and he remained ever grateful that they had been able to withstand the test of time. However things had now changed, Arkyn was a King and Vesuvius couldn't treat him like the colt he fondly remembered- at least not yet anyways. He watched quietly as Arkyn bowed and spoke of his thanks, "I was merely the middleman to your mother and her visions. Balder is ever kind to her, he seems to be the only one of the gods who give warning." His voice had become gravely and rough with age and a soft smile pulled at the corners of his muzzle, "It's good to see you again son, even better to see that your herd made it out safely." As he spoke he edged close to Arkyn and touched his muzzle to the King's shoulder, looking over his own shoulder to peer at Muspelheim, "When the other Kings arrive I'd like to pull you away so we can have a talk with them. A truce is to be put in place for the length that all the herds are here." His voice held a sternness to it as his gaze flicked back to Arkyn, and bounced around the herd for a few moments.

"I assume Aegir has treated you well then?" Vesuvius asked the question softly his voice light with a hearty chuckle as he looked to Ripley and back to Arkyn. He had been ever curious of the ocean himself but there had never been a right time to visit the ocean. Perhaps it was his very heart of fire and stone that kept him away from the salt water's edge. He hadn't expected one of his sons to take to the seas but he was surprised every day with the accomplishments of his offspring and the prideful way he acted around them showed as much. He was gleeful to see the Niflheim herd growing under his son's reign, despite the pushback of the gods he was sure the herd would prosper and flourish under Arkyn's reign as King.



« 𝘋𝘈𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘙𝘠𝘚 & 𝘔𝘐𝘋𝘈𝘚 »
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mare/colt ⋅ 5/1wk ⋅ svartalfheim valkyrie ⋅ heat. stage 2
loc. svartalfheim cliffs ⋅ mood. confident/carefree ⋅ tags. herd ⋅ ment. --
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The unfamiliar feeling of dread swept over her heart, darkening every streak of golden light that she usually had. The sound of an avalanche was hollowing, gutting if you will. The gods wrath had reached them, and mercilessly so. She could feel Midas huddle under her frame and under the intensely protective gaze of Volker offer the king a soft whinny. The gentle whinny of her colt let the remainder of her barriers against the stallion fade away. She stood quietly aside as he greeted his herd, she could smell a heavily pregnant mare and another mare, much younger, heavily into her heat. Daenerys assumed she was an angel and she approached cautiously, her blue gaze settled on the collection of horses her ears remained perked and her nostrils flaring as she familiarized herself with it all. Her assumptions of the young mare being an angel were only proven correct at the mare's soft voice- delicate like the downy feathers of a dove.

In any other moment of time she would be quick to meet the other mares but she stood hesitant, keeping her foal secure by her side. Another groan from Surtr echoed on the winds and Dany edged closer, nudging Midas' flank softly she listened to Volker talk. Despite not fancying Drasil herself she wasn't going to try and shelter herself in the meadows of Svartalfheim for her on ignorant bliss. If the gods themselves have spoken to the safety of Drasil then that is where she would be bound. Though a hollow truth to the stallion's words sat heavy in her mind. The trip would indeed be dangerous. The meadows were blanketed with thick snow and under the snow the soil was slick and treacherous. A hidden threat that she had become too familiar with just moments before. The shocks from the avalanche would likely come upon the meadows at any point, and if the avalanche didn't trigger a disaster here then the rumblings of Surtr would. Perhaps the King knew such a thing was bound to be upon them, his voice was laden with frustration and despair as he spoke.

There it was again, the shift from despair to determination. Granted his tone worked and Midas gave out a triumphant whinny from beside her flank Daenerys remained quiet, her ears flicking with interest as he made his way towards her. The warmth of his muzzle to her cheek brought forth a vibrant flash of colors, soft pinks and deep reds. She didn't know what to make of the colors, what their names were, but they were comforting and she leaned ever so slightly into his touch a whisper like whicker escaping her frame. His words had helped to sooth her apprehension, and though she didn't speak the words she cursed the gods that they'd better keep him safe- or face the wrath of a mare like no other. As he pulled away she could feel her colt break away from her side, nearing ever closer to the King and his gentle touch. The comforting whicker was enough to empower the colt, giving a saucy toss of his head and scoring the snow covered earth with one of his petite hooves, a snort of amusement came from Daenerys as she nudged his rump as she was sent forward with the other mares.

Many moments in her life she had been questioned of her blindness, one of the most common being that she couldn't possibly navigate all of the Elysian Fields with such confidence if she were truly born blind. Oh the ignorance. Though her navigation skills were remarkable, she had developed a mental map of Elysia over her years and granted she wouldn't get to her destination nearly as quick as others she was always sure to get there safely. Now though the security of a herd had emboldened her just the slightest. Positioning herself on the inside of their formation her strides were long and confident, what remained of her muscle from the harsh winter rippling under her pelt and her foal by her side keeping pace with relative ease. She couldn't remember the last time she bothered to go to Drasil and the only uncertainty that lingered in her heart was how long the journey would take.



« 𝘙𝘐𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘠 »
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mare ⋅ 13 ⋅ lead mare of niflheim heat. pregnant, early/mid spring
loc. drasil ⋅ mood. deflated ⋅ tags. herd, chosen ⋅ ment. muspelheim
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The returning call of Vesuvius shattered the air around her, causing her ears to perk with interest. Finding them wasnt hard, just following the flowers was easy enough. Though now she slowed, her stamina ebbing away quickly as her belly hung low and heavy on her frame. She almost looked ridiculous with such a big belly but her state of being was obvious to anyone who looked her way for longer than a few seconds. Though her mind always came back to Arkyn's words of the other Kings and she quietly hoped to the gods that they'd ceased they onslaught of their lands to see a truce to fruition.

Deciding they had edged close enough the dappled mare came to a halt, giving a soft squeal of surprise as Arkyn appeared to her side she lipped at his mane gently she stood tall and prideful. Her gaze flitted between the trio of the Chosen before them, she lingered on Vesuvius in quiet awe. She had seen the stallion only a handful of times and each time his stature surprised her. His formal name was indeed true and she felt dwarfed by the black and white Earl. Despite her small size compared to the messenger, she was a near perfect compliment to Arkyn. There was in obvious pride that emitted from Ripley as she stood beside the onyx King- his Queen, as she liked to think of it. Though her pride was swiftly strangled with fear at a sickening crash and too many snaps and splinters to count shattered the air around Drasil.

As if she were on a roller coaster of emotions, the newest one was heartbreat as Aegir roared from behind them. Ripley pivoted on her hooves, a lump forming in her throat that she couldn't swallow despite her best attempts. Ever the hills of the land she could see the waves swallow the land whole, as if it had never been there. A hoarse, strangled, whinny was all she could muster as the waters and foam from the violent waves stretched to the hooves and fetlocks of the herd. Her brows furrowed as her fetlocks were bathed in the salty waters, Aegir giving a bittersweet goodbye before he raged on in the depths of Niflheim territory. Her chocolate gaze remained trained on the waters as they retreated back to their territory and her usually warmly lit eyes dulled faintly. Aegir had unknowingly taken a small part of Ripley's spirits as he receded to wreck havoc on her home. The groaning of Surtr and the crashing of the avalanche was merely white noise for the mare, the stillness of the ocean that claimed Niflheim for the time being all she could hear. It was deafening.

The soft nudge from Arkyn forced her away and she pressed her head to the crook of his neck, she was at a loss for words, none able to properly describe the loss that sat heavy in her heart. Niflheim would be back and recover from the flood but it would remain forever changed. She wouldn't return to the home she knew. Though in the back of her mind she knew she fared better than the other herds, everyone in her flock able to escape with little trouble from the weather she walked forward with Arkyn, watching the opposing side of Drasil as Muspelheim broke the treeline and were freed from the avalanche. Duvessa and Leucothea were quick to greet the herd and left alone to greet his son stood Vesuvius. Ripley watched Arkyn bow to his father whereas Ripley offered a somber dip of her head, quite literally unable to bow without completely laying down due to her added weigh she hoped the Messenger would understand.

Though as the two proceeded to talk she refused to linger like an intrusive yearling and found her way away from the two stallions, her tail lashing at her hocks she nosed the shallow layer of snow away and grazed quietly, plucking at the grass. She was consumed with thoughts of her foal, the soreness in her teats becoming an ever present thought in her mind. Surely she wouldn't foal in Drasil in the company of foreign mares and stallions? She hoped that Aegir would recede before the newest member to Niflheim made an appearance but the hopes of such a thing happening were bleak.



« 𝘈𝘜𝘙𝘖𝘙𝘈 »
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mare ⋅ 2½ ⋅ angel of svartalfheim heat.3rd stage, first heat
loc. svartalfheim > drasil ⋅ mood. excited ⋅ tags. herd ⋅ ment. --
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The last thing Aurora was expecting to crest over the hill was a golden sabino mare and a tiny colt at her hip. Was this the elusive mare who had escaped Volker so many times? Aurora was immediately curious and sided up against Brigitta, her ears perched atop her head as she let out a soft nicker towards the pair when the mare called out. The delicate champagne mare studied Daenerys quietly, finding herself entranced with her brilliant blue eyes she almost couldn't look away. Almost. When Volker responded with a call of his own and broke the hilltop she pranced in place softly shaking her head playfully part of her hoped he would be distracted enough to look over her disappearance. Her heart warmed at his reunion with Brigitta and she sidestepped, allowing them plenty of room to greet eachother.

Whilst she stood she slipped into a world of her own, her imagination running wild as it usually did. The images so vibrant in her mind they almost felt real. She could almost feel the warm rays of the summer sun on her pelt that glittered in the light and a white hot breath escaped her when the imagery faded away again with Volker's tender nicker. She could see concern and displeasure in his gaze when he approached, her ears flicked back softly offering him a delicate nicker in return she reached out to nibble at his mane, "You know I always find my way back, even in the rages of Odin." Her words came light and playfully- her voice ever so delicate to match her frame. His gentle touch was all too familiar and she indulged in it- a mare who flourished on the gentle affections of others. "In the fray you've gotten a new friend? She's beautiful." It was barely a whisper as it came from her thought she quieted at his nibbling and protective rumbles. She knew it was likely a direct reaction to her heat, as much as she wished it would just leave her, she had no control and for a moment she felt guilty.

There had been many times during the span of her first heat that she thought about lingering in Svartalfheim. She wasn't truly Volker's offspring and she was a spitting image of her own dam. No harm could be done in staying in the lands she knew as home with a stallion she knew, but the wanderer that guarded her heart longed to explore the word beyond the stretching meadows and plummeting cliffs of her home. What did Surtr look like up close? What did sand feel like on a hot day? What about the mountains of Jotunheim? There were many possibilities for Aurora to seek out but the indecisive angel was ever apprehensive.

However she wouldn't have to linger on with her impossible questions as Volker broke the news. The Messenger has sent the words of the gods? Drasil would be their safe heaven to wait out the storm. Aurora needed little encouragement to explore and the dainty mare pranced in place eagerly, spinning in a tight circle and when ushered forward she ran alongside Brigitta excitedly, her bright tail streaming behind her as she ran. Her movements were smooth and fluid, almost appearing to glide over the terrain. "This is exciting isn't it Brigitta? Going to Drasil and two new faces!" The ever jubilant face in the sea of the storm she tossed her head excitedly, even giving a little crow-hop and buck as she ran. The fact they were running from imminent danger clearly slipping her more forward thoughts.