A Starlit Ballet

No other in the whole of the Sisterhood, was as exquisite as the High-Maiden of Sunnmōre. She was a goddess among them, cherished as such and it was in Her name whom their prays and song were lifted at every opportunity. Blessed beyond perfection, still better than any magic could craft, She epitomised strength and beauty; with hair that poured like glistening snow to sprawl around dainty, rose-gold hooves and eyes that sparkled even on the grimmest, moonless night, blue like the belly of an iceberg. She was a figure of elegance and unrivalled sophistication and many a victory on the battlefields of old Loorien, had been marshalled by Her. Feared so, and equally adored, the Sisters of the Shield served Her cause without qualm or question; after all, it was by Her good grace that they had all been given life. No womb had nurtured their prenatal souls and they knew not the combined love of two parents - the puny seeds of sublimity had been forged beneath the cold shells of eggs, and it was from these that the Sisterhood had grown. This woman, kissed with constellations and gliding beneath the wild breath of distant galaxies could only have been born from the same preternatural beginning- She too was divine, godlike. Though She lacked the familiar unblemished tone worn by the High-Maiden, and Her height was easily triple that of her Sisters, Valkyrie felt helplessly drawn to - if not infatuated with - the breathtakingly beautiful horse poised statuesquely before her. There had been few so benevolent as She in the feral wildness she’d conquered thus far, and the humbled youth found her lips pulling into a stupefied grin, echoing the same which emerged so tranquilly into the other’s expression, to comfort her. There was no doubting She understood the despair that went hand in hand with uncleanliness - sympathy pooled beneath the glittering purple of the eyes that caressed her. The Daughter of the Shield gazed with growing longing back, and a small, quivering sigh brushed her lips when the Goddess confirmed her theory about the lake; what a relief, and without hesitation she moved to match (the best she ought), the sweeping stride of her friend. “My name is Valkyrie,” she hummed with a gentleness yet won by the chaos of the Rift, and queried quickly with a hint of yearning in her voice, “what may I call you, please?” As they walked, the smaller arched her neck a little higher and drew each knee a little higher, perhaps to win a pleased reaction from her senior. ;lo

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