09-11-2016, 12:34 PM
Winter is an abysmal time for Lagertha; the Jungle woman is happiest when tightly wrapped in a littel bubble of wet, heavy heat. She imagines they’ll have to get used to another climate now, and the thought makes her grit her teeth in annoyance. Another notch to add to the marks against her enemies
Lagertha wanders back from Ischia, childless for the first time in what seems like forever; a peculiar feeling of both freedom (it is most difficult to one’s self alive in Hell, let alone a helpless, occasionally winged foal) and emptiness (the girl is the only one who knows what they went through - she can say which beast made which scar across her mother’s back, how Lagertha bled in sacrifice) which sends the silver-scarred mare into an odd state of contemplation. She will return for Wessex soon, but there is too much work to be done, and if the former Queen cannot rest, then her daughter, at least, should.
A familiar tang (ever so faint, it makes her stop short to determine if she’s imagining it) cuts cleanly through her reveries, causing Lagertha to pause momentarily, and then switch directions. It leads her to a small copse, where a grulla mare and colt take shelter from the weather. The warrior woman stays a ways away from the new mother, knowing full well that even without her tattoos and usual muscle mass, she could be deemed a threat (and in any other case, that might be the truth). But if the mouse-gray mare is a new sister, she should be given the option of returning to the group again. She calls out to the pair, disregarding niceties. “You smell faintly of the Jungle. Are you a Sister?”
Lagertha wanders back from Ischia, childless for the first time in what seems like forever; a peculiar feeling of both freedom (it is most difficult to one’s self alive in Hell, let alone a helpless, occasionally winged foal) and emptiness (the girl is the only one who knows what they went through - she can say which beast made which scar across her mother’s back, how Lagertha bled in sacrifice) which sends the silver-scarred mare into an odd state of contemplation. She will return for Wessex soon, but there is too much work to be done, and if the former Queen cannot rest, then her daughter, at least, should.
A familiar tang (ever so faint, it makes her stop short to determine if she’s imagining it) cuts cleanly through her reveries, causing Lagertha to pause momentarily, and then switch directions. It leads her to a small copse, where a grulla mare and colt take shelter from the weather. The warrior woman stays a ways away from the new mother, knowing full well that even without her tattoos and usual muscle mass, she could be deemed a threat (and in any other case, that might be the truth). But if the mouse-gray mare is a new sister, she should be given the option of returning to the group again. She calls out to the pair, disregarding niceties. “You smell faintly of the Jungle. Are you a Sister?”