+ Of Myths and Reality
callmeindiana:
It was a chilly Spring morning, but that was to be expected when traveling in Scandinavia. Though Indiana Jones far preferred the heat to the cold, he took all weather in stride, shaking off even the most oppressive of conditions as if he were made of something tougher than mere flesh.
The area was remote, and Doctor Jones was travelling alone— this time, at least. The excursion was a minor venture, a stop to investigate some ruins firsthand as he continued south toward his main objective. He wasn’t expecting trouble. In fact, he wasn’t expecting to see another living soul for the duration of his hike through the area.
His surprise was understandable, therefore, when he came crashing through the underbrush and discovered a woman— young, alone, haphazardly clothed. He stared at her for a long moment, completely puzzled. Then he glanced around, expecting to see some form of transport that might explain her presence. There was none.
“I’m sorry— I, uh, didn’t realize there was anybody out here,” he said cautiously. If she didn’t speak English, he’d repeat himself in other languages until he hit one she could comprehend.
Sleipnir turned to face the man, her head tilting as her eyes regarded him. An amused half-smile lit on her lips. “I had the same feeling, I suppose we were both wrong about our surroundings being desolate of conversant life.” Her voice was accented, that long time back home had brought the life to her tongue again.
She turned away and began to fix her clothing further to seem more presentable. “So tell me stranger, what brings you to this place? It’s rather far out so I was not expecting anyone” Sleipnir spoke with piqued interest as she looked over her shoulder at the man in question. What was a man doing in such a place of old?
Sleipnir shudder suddenly not at the cold, but at the thought of what man that looked as if he was ready for exploration was doing here. A fiend perhaps? Looking to find his weight in riches like so many others…. Sleipnir determined she would keep a close eye upon this one.
+ Of Myths and Reality
The silence of the coming dawn left a ringing in her ears. For months she had listened to the battle cries and the twang of metal against metal, tasted the metallic froth of the bit and felt the weight of a kingdom on her back. The symphony of war had become an unwelcome comfort to her mind, one that she needed to be rid of.
Sleipnir shuddered, taking a deep breath and felt the dew that had collected in her pelt over the course of the night roll from her body.
Midgardian springs were chilly, but she felt at home there. Wars were simple and she had no need to enter them without due cause. Things were in a constant state of change, Yggdrasil viewed this world of in-betweens as her crowning glory, a world were freewill was the well of ink and humans were the quill to each of their stories.
Slowly the Mare stood upon eight mighty legs, stretching sleep from her muscles and shaking condensation from her pelt. Her ears twisted about taking in all she could to be aware of her surroundings before lowering her head to graze with a contented nicker. This world was ever changing, but Sleipnir agreed that the land which worshiped her kind was the most welcoming still, its grasses sweeter and the ancient dwellings of the norslings gave her comfort from and industrialized world.
Yet Sleipnir paused… sensing a being close by, something human yet different in someway or manner. Sleipnir Kept her senses open as the mare walked to her damp clothing; eight legs twisted and shifted into a pair of arms and a pair of legs, ten fingers and toes, a human form all and all.
Sleipnir, now a woman, was quick to dress ignoring the chill as the cloth clung to her skin. She needed no issues, not now, not when she was still recovering from bloodshed and battle.
+ A Tale of the Horse in the Nighttime
general-of-dogs:
Charles couldn’t help but jump a little, when her snout met his hand. She was warm…and very real. So she wasn’t an hallucination ..he really was looking at an eight-legged mare…and, of all things, it was the mare from mythology…
“Time changes a lot of things, man being the most changed.” said Charles, settling down on the ground, wincing as his numbed arm protested slightly, when he lowered himself down, “We adapt, but sometimes we become more violent, more… territorial, in a sense.” He then shrugged, “But some men can’t adapt to change. If something is different, they lash out at it. …More than likely, the men that were chasing you were trying to kill you, aye? They were probably scared at seeing an eight-legged horse on a field that had once been the place of a vicious battle earlier in the day.”
“They were not frightened, not until the very end. They wanted to noose me and tame me like some common beast but I’ll have none of it.” He ears came forward with alertness, her eyes kept to the fire however as the mare spoke again.
“I see, however, what you refer to. Man has grown and spread like wild oats, but they forget. They always forget those that they leaned towards for protection in ages past. Perhaps that is why man expires so readily now? They hold the spark, but not the passion.”
+ The Eight-Legged Mare is Taking Questions!
Any and all shall be answered! :D
