Sleep well, and dream of fat prey that runs slow…

For far too long she stood there with all sensibility and mindfulness quashed by a debilitating fog of confusion and concern - how could she ever return to Sunnmøre? Dumbfounded gaze wandered heavenward, scouting the prismatic blur and blinking eyes blindly; they seemed also to coat every single surface within view. In vain, she  turned thought to the ridiculousness of the situation, even seeking some form of logic from the vine like ladder now visible to the rear - restless mist streamed through it’s crude rungs, over and all around its inconceivable length. Locked in the stupor, she might easily have appeared simple prey to the wonderful monsters that lurked down in the under-realm into which she’d inadvertently been slotted (surely there were many), but it seemed, ironically, that luck had rushed to her side. The mist, curious - almost attracted to her presence - though it seemed, came not too close, to begin with. She was left for the most part to filter through an overwhelming deluge of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what nows’ until the shadows to the front of her evolved into a living thing less abstract than the rest. Behind it, the more plausible stranger, materialising from the ever-turning soup of changing darkness and colour, was a jungle of trees strung with vine; and beyond that, the rise and fall of perhaps a distant horizon - a future, potential. Valkyrie blinked slowly, as though the action might cleanse the chaos in her mind. “It’s... too hot…” she mumbled almost incoherently. The sultry, stagnant air was intense and the wintry, almost-white coat wrapped snug around her bones did little to prevent mounting discomfort. Every breath caught in her throat, thick and unfamiliar, and she fought to swallow them, one and then another; desperate to quench the crippling thirst of her lungs. The longer she choked in this way, the faster and heavier became the weight of dizziness, wooziness, and the nonsense surrounding began to spin. Perhaps it was same vertigo which dumbed down her instinct to the touch of the other; he continued forward like a dream towards her, growing into a figure beyond the standard size of her Sisters. But his height was barely the beginning. The colour canvasing him was wrong, an almost marbled blend of old mud and snow, sticks and stones, and her subconscious writhed and wretched in response. Long legs grew like spindly sapling tree-trunks beneath a barrel that rolled with the awkward, almost skating action of his stride; lumps seemed to grow at each side - they could have been feathered (she was unsure, the picture was distorted), vanishing somewhere behind the dominant forequarters as she watched, head on. Drawing from a solid belt of teachings as well as the depictions written blatantly upon cave walls, Valkyrie felt that such an anomaly could really only be one thing, a man. As though to validate her suspicion, he paused clumsily at her location without any regard for personal boundaries. Yet… she seemed in that moment of confirmation, frustratingly incapable of issuing a reprimand. His breath, hot against her ears and repulsively stale compared to the intoxicating fragrance of her Sisters, moved her stomach to twist unpleasantly; so too the bold touch of his contaminate warmth against the stiff bristle of her clean feathers, caused her skin to crawl. She stood frozen in place, temporarily incapacitated by the shameless breach of common morals.   Understanding began to form in her bewildered mind - this was no doubt a technique to control and conquer; stun and shackle. …and he was still yet to speak! “Vy!” The sound, as it filled the muggy air from somewhere beyond - though utterly alien - soothed the note of alarm ringing through her heart. From Valkyrie’s naive perspective, it was a quite charming blend of Sigrún’s deep and lustful, midnight hum, also rolling, booming thunder and the harried course of whining wind against the cliffs; it seemed as earnest as it was urgent. The second more mammoth beast appeared through the same tree line, thankfully pausing a safer distance behind the first, and his rumbling voice was enough to reel back in, her wayward common sense. The horse with the unsightly coat had already drawn back a little - his eyes, perfectly blue, were gazing curiously into hers. Only very briefly did she acknowledge this, for her attention rapidly diverted back to the next, with a good amount of disbelief fixing through all, including posture. The second was easily larger than the male, in width, length, height... In fact, his presence there in the sweltering space was rather commanding - he quite dwarfed Valkyrie. If his counterpart challenged her grip on reality at all, this creature, was a thing forged by lost memories and dreams in the darkest, deepest recesses of her imagination. He looked unreal, with what could only be described as wings (they were ill-placed, upon his body rather than head). A decent number of giant thorns - she dared not count them, turning dazed eyes every so often should he find her examination rude - protruded both down the centre of his skull, and from what she could see, behind; and an absurd quantity of hair framed the unexpected softness of his expression, growing almost as much underneath (she felt), as was cascading down from above. Though her eyes delighted in the feast his picture provided them, the clashing bits of him were simply too much for the reasoning brain within them to fathom. As his amazingly enormous wing extended, the Daughter’s tongue rolled hesitantly, forcing back a hard gulp and small, tan-tinted hooves shuffled warily backwards a length - the man alone, she was more confident facing. Smoke billowed about his moving, breathing, speaking figure. Was this mist - her plunge into this underworld - his doing? Confronted by the conflicting information soaking in (his appearance versus his tone and the message it offered), Valkyrie found that she could not withhold the warning flick of her ears; equally suggestive was the uncomfortable strain through her face. Her posture had already become rigid; ready. “It’s no problem,” she responded carefully, sparing a glance by the other who was no longer breathing down her neck; perhaps had the smaller of the two been more alone, she might have rearranged his understanding of good manners by now… “No, I’m not hurt. Thank you Roscorro.” Though young and naive, she certainly wasn’t stupid, and the perceptive Shieldmaiden was quick to realise that there was danger in her ignorance and inexperience - especially here, in such a place so far from all that was familiar (and sensible). “I’m Valkyrie,” she revealed to them and made a simultaneous effort to relax the tension beneath her warm, pallid hide (still, she was prepared should either attitude switch); likewise, she let a small smile inch to life. ooc: (please let me know if I got anything wrong! you both have amazingly unique characters. Oh, and I never expect matching length, I'm just a rambler <3)