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“Where are you going, darling?”
The dappled grey colt trotted along roughly ten paces ahead of him, all eight legs lifting and churning with obvious exuberance.
The young horse’s ears flicking back to catch and follow the crooning cadence of Loki’s voice. Tossing his black-maned head, his spindly legs danced and kicked as he turned himself.
His mother was there, closer now, but having stopped when Sleipnir did. With a whinny and a snort, the distance was closed with what seemed like a single leap with how fluid it was. His velvet muzzle pressed to the gold plating at Loki’s sternum, and he snorted again, this time more insistently.
Green eyes were alight with amusement and affection. Pale hands lifted, fussing with Sleipnir’s mane, pushing it back and out of the way of long, feathery lashes and large dark eyes.
“Where are you taking me?” Low tones, now that they were so very close.
Sleipnir’s ears twitched, and his tail flicked behind him. He snorted again, this time dirtying his mother’s chest plate with flecks of moisture. Loki did not seem to take notice. In this moment on this day, his eyes were for his son alone.
With a firm nudge that did not upset Loki’s balance in the slightest, the grey colt turned and gave a second whinny, resuming his excited, gangly gate.
Follow me.
The golden wheat fields fold beneath powerful legs, with a separate set of two following a bit further behind.
It was rare to be allowed time with Sleipnir. The Allfather had never approved of his grandson, and it was only the promised use that could be made of him when he grew that kept Sleipnir from the same fate as his siblings.
This life was hardly much better for him. Only recently was Loki allowed anywhere near his eldest’s quarters.
Stables, Loki corrected himself with a faint sneer. That would change. If Odin Allfather supposed Loki would nod his head in approval at a meager stall and no room for his son to frolic, he was sorely mistaken. This was, for all Loki knew, the first time Sleipnir had been allowed to show off his startlingly nimble gallop in a field for such an unrestricted amount of time.
Granted, it was the royal wheat field. Odin would not be pleased.
Loki’s lips curved, the edges of his eyes crinkled. Good.
Up ahead, Sleipnir broke through the wheat into the vast planes beyond with a victorious and exhilarated high-pitched neigh. Once Loki himself broke through, the colt ran circles around his amused parent, finally stopping and staring with those large, endlessly dark eyes.
Sleipnir pawed at the ground with two of his hooves, both lifting from the ground and punching down again impatiently. He gave low whicker when Loki did not respond, and before his son could begin to throw his head and destroy the ground any more, Loki held up a placating hand and gave a chuckle.
“I understand.”
The air around the trickster god undulated and shimmered, as though he were being viewed through a curtain of water. With eyes closed, Loki took a slow, deep breath and allowed his seiðr to swell beneath his skin, flowing as thickly and easily as the blood in his veins.
It seeped from his pores, weaving and twisting around him like Jormungand’s many coils. The change came easily to him, and when the air became still, Loki arched the graceful curve of his neck and took a few pawing steps to stretch the packs of pure muscle that came with this familiar form.
Sleipnir went to him immediately, bumping their muzzles together before bounding away excitedly. The grey colt took off like a rocket, and for a moment, Loki watched his son’s silhouette dance in the distance.
Yes, this way, mother! Follow me!
And Loki did.