* \ herløv / *

He's clip-clopping around in complete centaur mode, that damned Goose had gotten Sleipnir to convert from his human-appearing legs as though a swift hoof kick would have kept the Goose from being a complete menace. Whatever, Herløv is vibing now, if Hyrsam can waltz around in bedazzled and jeweled hooves, then this Stallion would put his best hoof forward. "What's it matter how I'm doin'? I'm just listenin', gatherin'," horses could hear up to, like, three miles away so Herløv knew plenty of juicy gossip from the fey and those within the fey forest.

Considering the primates rolled out this entire buffet for him, the Goose sure as hell was going to explore every inch of it. While he preferred open skies, these strange gathering dens were ok, he guessed. But whether stall or structure, each establishment would receive the Goose's unfiltered opinion. This noisy place seemed like it had promise at first, but the second Goose flapped onto the bar to peck at a peanut bowl he knew this place was honkin' gross. Too salty—–so naturally he blamed the schmuck sitting there. One swat from a single wing sent the bowl careening right for his head, but his real punishment was a bellowing honk! Both wings and neck outstretched, the Goose began to wail in fury, unwilling to settle until he was brought suitable food.

Herløv had mastered shifting from horse to centaur to man; it was a swift process, something that aided in his defensive mode. The horse never really liked to out himself, but this Goose gave him no choice as they sent the beer nuts careening at Herløv's head, a hoof from his centaur bod sent it ricocheting to crack against the other wall. The lycans were so rowdy none had necessarily noticed the goose on horse violence, Herløv muttering under his breath as the Goose honked and wailed miserably; clearly in some sort of attack mode. "Them beer nuts ain't doing it for you, huh?" The horse with the face of a man bared his teeth, it was how most animals showed aggression, surprisingly horses included. "There's slim pickings in here." Herløv nodded towards the exit as he downed his beer; as annoying as a Goose was, he'd lend a helping hoof.

"Oh, you've always known how to woo a crowd," I mean how else would Hyrsam have once convinced Sleipnir to locate some fire horse milk for him. In any case, where Hyrsam was destined to thrust himself into the spotlight of every event, the horse much preferred to be a shadow, and though he was really missin' walking on all eight hooves, his two mortal-appearing, human legs, would have to do for now. "You're not going to do an encore?" That was shocking but there was always room for Hyrsam to dominate the stage the next two days of Wolfchella.

"Great detective work," Herløv snickered through his biting sarcasm but if one listened too closely it could be more of a mocking whinny. It was any wonder why the horse turned man hadn't come here flaunting his centaur bod but he was trying to keep a low profile; there was plenty to take in and a horses imagination, much like their hooves on the wild plains, ran wild. The horse, of course, put his hand to his chest at this lycans latter comment; it just felt like a perceived threat and horses never did well under the threat of danger. Well, actually, with his stomping hooves he'd do fantastic, but he'd be spooked which wasn't pretty. "They had lycan jerky, too?" That was a petulant retort and if one listened carefully it would sound as if Herløv had threateningly snorted, his head held high as though he was about to break into some wicked canter. "Horse jerky," muttered under his breath; this guy was unbelievable.

"And what would you have done?" Fenrir was all sharp teeth and attitude, he hardly held a world back. The lythari was more than willing to let things slide – though not really. While he thought he was being benevolent, he was simply enacting revenge. They never should've put him away; perhaps they should've put them down. Either way, he grinned at his brother, pulling him into an aggressive hug. Everything he did was mildly aggressive, his social skills weren't the best. "So you've missed me. What have you been doing? I need to know more about this place."

"You are selling me and my hoof stomp short, brother," Herløv was quirky enough to trademark his abilities as though he was some guy in an anime shouting out his power ups; yeah, that's right, even a horse could get into shows like that. Thankfully, he wasn't in centaur mode or he likely would have spooked at the aggressive manner which his brother hugged him, but after a breath Herløv merely reciprocated with a wide grin. "Lurking mostly; this place is in shambles."

"I'm still lookin' for it, I'll let you know if I ever come to find it," Herløv tipped his hat because obviously he was wearing one; he never bought into the asinine rule of taking it off inside, that was for the fakes. Herløv was a horse, but a horse of his caliber looked best in a cowboy hat; damn rootin' tootin' he did, eyes shielded with his blue cowboy hat of choice. Once, Sleipnir would have said Asgard was his home, isolated in that cave with only Angrboða to nurture them; but the horse was known to be foolish and fall prey to convoluted memories. As a mere colt all it had taken was one nightmare of his lythari brother wandering off for the horse to often wake in the night believing he'd catch Jormungandr wandering out of the cave to feast on unsuspecting children. In later years, as a budding prospect, he'd come to realize that was actually all some bad dream and not a genuine omen, but whatever, it proved that even horses could dream; contrary to popular belief.

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton 1923 — S1E5 "Ghost of Zebrina"

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton 1923 1x01 | dir. Ben Richardson

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton 1923 - 1.02 "Nature's Empty Throne"

Lifetimes separated their childhood off in the secluded cave of Angrboða's forest turned sanctuary for her children and now. Eons and different identities should have separated them, Fenrir his half-brother thrown away in chains as Sleipnir rebelled from his own destiny. "I should have come for you sooner," the closest thing to apologies or regrets but Ragnarök had always been fated to come about, a Horse could not influence when the time was right. All Herløv had to show for his time within the mortal realm was the distant stampeding of his hooves, a creature who never stayed stagnant for long as he moved with the transitioning world. "Nobody is interested in the gifted horse who refused the All-Father," Herløv smirked at his brother, "But they are plenty interested in the wolf who will swallow the sun." Fenrir's legacy, his fate, his destiny would follow him wherever the lythari wandered.

Sleipnir was not a fey, nor a druid, nothing of the sort really, he was merely a horse of course but the Aspect/Horse could tell when there was elven influence afoot. Horses had a sixth sense for those sort of things, it's why they were so easily spooked. Easy spookings aside, he still found himself cruising La Musa for the mere interesting that it was as cooky and strange as a horse turned man could equate to, "You're a long way from home." Personally, Herløv was buzzing inside, but he'd have to discover more as to whether he'd treat this cowboy derogatorily or affectionately; there were levels to cowboys and how they'd treat a noble steed, it was important to differentiate the two.

"I've found it," the horse who was basically cosplaying as a human stated with a small smile. He often cared little for prominent faces that he'd met over the years, aspects who had some influential tie within history; the horse never appreciated any sort of spotlight, if often spooked them. Galatea, however, was different; she was an aspect who became such way because of the mishandling, a royal prisoner in a gilded cage. Perhaps Sleipnir could relate; son of the Trickster god, raised by the high priestess loyal to Sehanine Moonbow, but treated as a gift to the All-Father instead of something that had it's own rights and ideals. "Galatea," a hushed greeting for he understood the comfort of anonymity, even though he was, well, an easily identifiable horse, "How are you?" He'd not seen her for quite some time.

BRANDON SKLENAR as Spencer Dutton 1923 (2022 TV Series) created by Taylor Sheridan

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton 1923 1x01 | dir. Ben Richardson