Like the Nix's Fiddle

It had all started with the orphaned little filly Amunet had felt sorry for, purchased, and brought back to Haven with her. Älva was, aside from the miniatures, probably the smallest horse permanently stabled at Haven, and looked even more delicate when she roamed the pasture next to the large Nordanner mare that had, predictably, taken the young Baliro under her figurative wing.

Somewhere, along the way, someone had voiced the opinion that Älva should have an older horse of her own kind around, to help her settle in, or maybe to make sure she didn't get into her head that she had the size and strength of her foster mother. The idea had, predictably, been met with grumbling resistance from Lore, and various degrees of enthusiastic curiosity from the rest of the stable staff. And, predictably, the crotchety old unigryph's opinion of the whole affair had been drowned out by the approval of the rest of the stable staff. So after giving Älva her morning feeding, Liande stepped through the rift between realities that would take her somewhere near Fenrisholt, Denmark. From her asking around, she'd gathered there'd be an auction for some very special Baliros there today, and if luck was with her, she'd be returning to Haven with one of them.

Exiting on the other side of the rift, the skogsrå took a moment to make sure that her skirts were all in order, obscuring her tail to avoid drawing unwanted attention. It was easier for her to deal with the need for discretion than for many of her fellow stable staff back in Haven – she'd grown up in this world, not so far away from where she now stood. But of course, times changed. She started down the road, heading towards the stable buildings she could see further along, some earlier arrivals already milling about the grounds, a smile on her lips. She had a good feeling about this. Now she just had to remember to not savor that good feeling enough to get her tail wagging.

The hustle and bustle around the stables was more than she'd expected – maybe her memories of Scandinavia were colored by her childhood wandering through forests and rural communities, watching her mother's herd of creamy white cattle or hiding in plain sight during celebrations for a chance at the goodies. That brought another smile to her face. Maybe, if she got the chance, she could treat herself to a wienerbrød while she was in the area.

Once she had a chance to look at the horses, they all but took her breath away. She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, but what she saw wasn't it. Their coats were all brilliant blue, but that was where the similarities ended. Between them, the three Baliros displayed much of the variety within the breed, ranging from a small pony type like their own Älva back home, to the larger, more sturdily built sections. One of them had clearly defined, lighter blue socks and blaze, another had pale stripes extending down from its topline like the play of light on a body of water, or sunshine filtering down through the depths. They were both beautiful specimens, and she'd have had no problem bringing one of them home if offered, but the one that caught her eye was a small, fine-featured mare, with the dished face of an Arabian, just like the filly she was there to find a companion for. The rich blue along her spine faded to almost white on her belly in a pangaré-like pattern, and her blue eyes were deep like a tarn with a sparkle like the moon reflected in the dark quiet waters of that small forest lake.

Liande liked that sparkle, it spoke of an unbreakable, brave spirit, the kind of soul that might bend, but wouldn't easily break, waving under the fiercest storm like young willows. It was those eyes alone that convinced her that this mare was The One, and she would go home with this lady of the lake or she'd go home without a horse.

There was just no way either of the other two, fine specimens as they were, could measure up to the things the blonde skogsrå saw in those eyes, even at a distance. It reminded her of her mother's cattle, of the fine stock that only the fair folk owned. Suddenly, she thought she might have an idea how the mortals spellbound by the Nix's fiddle might feel.