06-23-2016, 09:45 PM
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Lagertha must be rational; she must accept the fact that Anguisette is gone and she has neither an heir nor a sister she who has her utmost confidence. Rhy is lost (and she, shameful as it is, has not personally gone looking for her - soon, though. There are too many questions and not enough answers). Prague sleeps. She is left with youngsters who are starting to prove themselves. They’ve bled for their home, and yet Lagertha cannot bring herself to name any of them her intended heir.
Nor can she bring herself to find another Crito. Not yet. Her life is still unsettled.
Tantalize brought the Khaleesi her greatest joy, but years later, the gray Queen knows she cannot rely on that again. She must find it for herself. The gray mare finds herself at the edge of the adoption den, which surprises herself most of all. Once upon a time she might have ended up here. And perhaps that is what draws her in. Or perhaps she grows more benevolent in her old age, willing to sacrifice a little of her ‘edge’ in return for someone soft and sweet.
The places is fairly empty - there are only two foals, and one is already attended to by both fairies and another mare. So Lagertha turns towards the other and takes a few steps forward, lowering her head to the foal’s level. It is an unusual color, she thinks, which is also an odd thing to think when Beqanna is full of fantastically colored horses. She does not look like a mother, does not speak like a mother, and doesn’t have the pull like some sisters (Vineine) did. Nevertheless, she takes another couple of steps towards the filly and says as gently as she can, “Hello. I’m Lagertha. What’s your name?”
Nor can she bring herself to find another Crito. Not yet. Her life is still unsettled.
Tantalize brought the Khaleesi her greatest joy, but years later, the gray Queen knows she cannot rely on that again. She must find it for herself. The gray mare finds herself at the edge of the adoption den, which surprises herself most of all. Once upon a time she might have ended up here. And perhaps that is what draws her in. Or perhaps she grows more benevolent in her old age, willing to sacrifice a little of her ‘edge’ in return for someone soft and sweet.
The places is fairly empty - there are only two foals, and one is already attended to by both fairies and another mare. So Lagertha turns towards the other and takes a few steps forward, lowering her head to the foal’s level. It is an unusual color, she thinks, which is also an odd thing to think when Beqanna is full of fantastically colored horses. She does not look like a mother, does not speak like a mother, and doesn’t have the pull like some sisters (Vineine) did. Nevertheless, she takes another couple of steps towards the filly and says as gently as she can, “Hello. I’m Lagertha. What’s your name?”
Lagertha
Warrior Queen of the Amazons