Fever Dreaming

Instead of answering his question—a very simple question—the stallion elaborated on his title, as though it meant anything at all to him. Vroskar's glare grew heavier, deadlier, ears deflated and his lips fattened in a scowl. A shieldmaiden? He would have laughed if he hadn't been in such sour spirits. Instead, he felt his anxiety bubble into low-simmering anguish and the rain that gushed down from the heavens—where the gods must have looked down at him with mischievous grins—thoroughly soaked him til even his bones began to shiver.

Vroskar had never been so cold. It was as if all the life had fled from his body. He imagined this must be what it was like to wake up after dying. Had he died? Was this some sort of purgatory, and he was doomed to walk in the rift between worlds—being haggled by stallions who thought they were mares?

Perhaps you would like to join the cause of the sisterhood?

Ignoring, he tried to muster up the strength to get back to his feet. His muscles were noodle-like and disobedient. The warrior of Jardis felt like a newborn colt, wobbly in the knees. For a few promising moments, he was standing, 'til his haunches crumbled under him again and shame burned hot in his gut. His whole body throbbed frantically to the pulse of his heart, beating on stubbornly.

His lungs heaved a hefty sigh. Resigned to his indignity, he tilted his head in Valkyrie's direction. He did not meet the stranger's eyes. "And what cause is that?" To make him think he was a girl too? This place must do strange things to the mind.

@Valkyrie