Sleep well, and dream of fat prey that runs slow…

It appeared that the woolly giant possessed a kind of decency that Valkyrie could relate to; he pulled the younger, cumbersomely mannered man back into order and she realised as he slid away with uncanny smoothness, that beloved ice was forming (even briefly), beneath his careless tread. How she might have liked to lean into the cool freeze at that very time, or bathe in freshly fallen powder snow - instead, there was not even a wafting breeze to chill the sweat winding channels down her mane-cloaked neck. Pale lashes widened around the surprised glint in her examining eyes, but they soon turned away in favour of the mellow rumble of the greater’s eloquent, respectful words. The smile softened, lifting further through her mask. Interestingly, she’d not considered that he too could be male, and that probably contributed to the retiring level of unease for his sake; without a doubt, he didn’t present like the enemy. …he wasn't brainless, like Vynter. Through each pause in conversation, the Daughter studied the muddy, untidy man; scrutinised him. He stood now, close to Roscorro and murmured only a single word - a petty contribution indeed. She wasn’t surprised. In fact, his dumbness there in the queerly lit glade, only reiterated all that she assumed; everything she’d learned in the Sisterhood. An arrogant confidence began to form inside her, feeding off the presumption of his absent intelligence, and Valkyrie started subtly to assume a long rehearsed (but seldom applied), air of superiority - the kind that seemed to emanate from the giant just naturally. Women were indeed glorious, and men were an unnecessary blight in the world; perhaps he would serve the purpose of her (unexpected), arrival, conveniently. If she could separate them somehow… Ears drifted hitherward for a moment, as she shunned thought of him for now, to the wayside. Roscorro, in the same moment, was assuming her thoughts with good intention - he’d been speaking the whole time. Still hiding beneath the same smile, Valkyrie nodded gently, deliberately issuing words to encourage him further, “yes, pray tell. Here I was wondering if I were dead now.” In truth she knew she wasn’t - as she’d fallen to earth, the withered, sharp end of a broken vine had stuck like a blunt knife into her thigh. Surely there was no such pain in death. Even as the Daughter spoke, a modest chuckle icing the tone, the man on the outer was beginning to slide forward. Similarly drawn, like Roscorro’s moody blue (she thought) eyes, she watched on, tracing Vynter’s helpless, hapless, path towards her. They narrowed the nearer he came, - chin lifting, shoulders bracing - until those  clumsy heels beneath him finally drove home and forced him to a standstill; during the event it became apparent that the lumps upon each shoulder were in truth wings, pointless and maybe deformed mind you, for they did naught but wriggle and writhe about against his bland flesh. He was more than ridiculous; he needed to be terminated. Bemusedly she placed a cold stare upon him, and a grimace devoured the sweeter air which had previously engulfed her face. “You would do well to…” she hissed through gritted teeth discreetly, for his ears alone, but the venom in her voice fell away almost as suddenly as it had come about; he had barely moved an inch since coming to rest there in front, and his striking eyes swam admiringly between her own. “Pardon?” she replied to his statement quickly - and quite without indigence. “What did you say?” It wasn't customary in the Sisterhood to standout (it was impossible actually, they were all ‘made’ the same), or to possess any form of individuality above the rest (the High-Maiden was, of course, the exception), so it took Valkyrie quite by surprise that Vynter had complimented her appearance at all. She was so taken aback by the concept, stunned - even flattered - beyond comprehension, that her hocks gave way, forcing a backward stagger in the end. One hind-hoof slid against the smooth surface of an object, and Valkyrie turned briefly to discover her spear laying there. Quietly, her mind called for it - then a second time, and more desperately, a third - but the weapon remained on its bed of murky grass. Confused, and only momentarily distracted, she turned further to retrieve it with her teeth.

@Vynter @Roscorro