Fever Dreaming

The portal was a warren -a time waster- like no other. Ever-shifting walls of obscure, black fog, living shadow in fact, created false pathways and pointless passages between tangled, colour-tortured timber and queer white-bright eyes, smouldering with wicked intent, blinked everywhere amidst it, deterring even the brazen heart from detour. Even when she imagined herself to be making progress towards the north, towards K’yarie, the impatient Shieldmaiden came upon the same mangled bough bent down across the trail that she had stepped over, nearly three times already. “Oh really…” she huffed irritably, fed up, kicking out her clad foreleg in vain attempt to scold the smoke; of course, it slithered clear of her striking round hoof, only heightening further the level of her grief. Valkyrie had been circling the Portal for hours -an eternity, it felt like to her- and her already limited tolerance for uselessness, had reached the end of its tether. “Will you get out of my way!” In much the same style as the boring-bay’s, earlier that day (the same juvenile display that had earned him, her, scorn), the emotionally inept adolescent’s tantrum came immediately and with tornado-like chaos. There was no winding up period, no warning. It was full force from the very start like a bomb with no fuse, just an immediate, self-indulgent explosion of ill-directed emotion. However, unlike such a blast she could go on at length, brooding senselessly, sustaining her rage - then afterwards she would justify it, excuse it and generally blame it on someone else (anyone else). For the length of her young, jaundiced life, she continued along this same course, never learning, never cooling down, always just one more insult away from greater punishment. …like the curse imposed upon her by Hope had been futile. Throwing her hooves against the sloppy, waterlogged soil and providing the perfect kind of gratification for the Rift’s black breath, Valkyrie achieved nothing better for the savage, rampant effort but muddied extremities and the usual, consequent ache behind her burning, bloodshot eyes. No sooner had she stilled herself though, weary and trembling with remnant rage, than the fog instantly dissipated to reveal the stupid forest’s thinning fringe, not even three lengths from where she stood – and another, a brawny, warrior-esque looking woman with a ruddy shagpile pelt. To say Valkyrie was embarrassed would be understating it a little. Snivelling, and lowering her masculine skull to wipe the molten tears –evidence- from her face, the pallid Shieldmaiden straightened her slouched, aggrieved posture and smiled; weakly. It was not her own behaviour though that caused the sudden exhibition of awkwardness though, surprisingly, perhaps any other might have regretted a show of such ridiculousness immediately; it was the state of her appearance actually, the chunky, angular profile which had replaced her slender feminine curves – and the fact that the creature before her was contrastingly attractive. Even if a little facial, hair did sprout from her chin… And despite the peculiarly short mane, which framed her convex features… “Hello,” she hummed quietly, pale-blue eyes examining unabashedly through the mist of rain the sleek horns concealing her (the stranger’s) jawline; naturally, the vain winged-horse was rather taken by the curious adornments draped around them. “I’m Valkyrie. Your trinkets are lovely,” she mentioned smoothly after - a sound that perhaps seemed odd above the resonation of her baritone note.

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Notes for clarity:
- Valkyrie was cursed here. Physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender.
- Vynter gave her a bead here that alters her body language to favour males.