It calls to her, the land where she spilled his blood. Where she had grit her teeth and dove into the fray, taking his curse into herself as his body was broken and reduced to nothing more than steaming organic matter below them. It calls to her while she dreams not so far away, and she wakes to the familiar sensation of her body resembling itself in another location with a violent crack of her neck.
She is wild, this untempered daughter of queens. She holds her antlered crown with more pride than should have been allowed her, despite the way you can count her ribs under her patchwork hide.
But it is not a front, she does not posture. She had never been told to behave otherwise. Although, as her blue-black gaze cuts to the unfamiliar stallion, she has a feeling that he could break her if he wanted and a brow lifts as she looks him over once, twice.
Maybe this should tame her - it does not.
A year in pain had grown an impulsive girl into a reckless woman, and while caution would have been wise, she is brazen and unapologetic. Warlight had little to lose, she thinks, although some may say otherwise.
A cough threatens to overtake her after she prepares to speak, but she suppresses it. Forgetting even to lick away the trickle of blood which dribbles down her sunburnt lip as her eyes return to the kraken-mare.
"Sorry to interrupt," she lies with a gritty laugh, "but who the fuck is this, Yidhra?"
— soul as sweet as blood red jam —
![[Image: Warlightpageddoll1.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/NMPHtrtV/Warlightpageddoll1.png)