"Without sacrifice," it said, "you'll have nothing..."

VALKYRIE She stood in the storm Helpless was she as the hinges of her thickened jaw fastened tighter, forcing the molars above their length to grind gruesomely together. The scream jarred through her joints like the echo of an earthquake, commanding all willpower from her stunned limbs and robbing her heart of the courage to fight; however, her stubborn, resilient mind gathered against the strength of the sound and ordered forth a fresh wave of burning adrenaline. The hormone flooded her veins swiftly, whispering new life through the body which had reacted so readily to the call of wretched vermin. The creature, far smaller than seemed sensible, had latched onto the steaming, stiff span below the wither. Valkyrie’s snort rang true, blasting a foggy wreath of aggravation into the veil of falling fluid above her head. Movement returned with infuriating slowness. Teeth gnashed softly, intending towards their victim a far harsher threat, and the nerves which flinched laxly against the stinging, irritating bite of the Screecher shed only ripples in the streams which slithered down each curve. It released its hold, clawing a path hither atop her skin and in the same moment, the pallid mare’s fore hooves found their freedom. A visible ring of diluted crimson spilled from the tiny wound. Haunches clenched, binding down, riddled with malicious intent before unleashing the blunted weight of a buck forward, into the air. The Shieldmaiden’s heart sank and her anger boiled over, neck writhing like a cut snake beneath the pinch of the parasites sharp, ascending grip. It would not be moved, however, and the mare who struggled and squirmed so desperately began to quickly tire. The strain of hindered effort shone glaringly through her expression; she had nearly had the capacity to resist the Screechers touch, while every endeavour to shake it, consequently caused more weakness. A whimper bled through panting nostrils as she resigned to the foul pain of the creature’s knife slicing through the wet flesh of her jugular. Though Valkyrie’s chin nudged three times towards it, the Rift’s cunning, unassuming predator was now beyond her reach. Cold and with the pressure of complete exhaustion squeezing her mind free of motivation, the winged-woman slipped through the watching copse of ragged timber and towards a granite cave K’yarie had provided them for shelter, several months before. Perhaps after sleep, she would crush the Screecher from existence. and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.

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