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Sonje by Sie!
The calm before the storm—a prospect that the traveling Sonje was quite familiar with. She'd spent a lot of time before Hearg Njorth and after it, learning the ins and outs of nature and how to best avoid the more natural dangers the earth had to offer. Flooding was probably her least favorite disaster, as she wasn't a very well-versed swimmer; so when she began to detect signs of a distant, raging storm, Sonje nervously left Halifax that afternoon in a rush.
Jagga had a sense of urgency to her trot as well, heavy hooves plodding at a consistent speed, muscles twitching with the nervousness that she gleaned from her rider. Sonje wasn't often nervous, so her horse was particularly attuned to the direct foreignness of such physical expression: the tight grip of the reins in Sonje's hands, and the constant press of her usually lax heels into the mare's broad sides. Jagga was probably more calm than the wolfdog, just eager to escape the oncoming storm, which she too felt and disliked. Thunder had never been an easy subject for the horse, though inwardly the two creatures felt a sense of duty towards the other during storms—meaning that they would never abandon each other, no matter their personal fears.
Sonje knew they would be back at the Bay soon, as she'd traveled this way before, and when thinking of a plan to escape the storm, she realized that she couldn't come up with anything solid. She'd never had to face a hurricane alone; her mother had found her and her family a decent cave to stay in when a storm had passed in her youth, but that was the extent of Sonje's knowledge to finding decent "storm shelters". Hating to admit it, she knew she'd need help.
Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she saw him, golden fur standing out in the gray surroundings, like a beacon. She didn't have time to consider Fate or the existence of angels, though she'd probably wonder tonight how impeccably uncanny their meeting would be. She urged Jagga forward, and the horse nickered, loping the last thirty or so yards separating rider and walker. Hey!
she said, pulling up on the reins so that they came to a dusty halt many feet behind the man. She hated asking, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You wouldn't happen to know where we could find shelter, would you?
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