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

Pretty Valkyrie? Stunned seconds ticked by before the Daughter of the Shieldmaidens who despised those like him so, realised that the corners of her mouth - the gentle frown by then - had softened into the faintest curve of a smile. In an instant she forced it from existence and stiffened her unsuspecting mind against his spellbinding flattery; legs, thighs and shoulders hardened too against the disarming blue gaze which should gleefully see her fall drunkenly to his mercy, all weak at the knees. He was still a man, and they both had one purpose in this lifetime - he was pure, unadulterated evil, and she would see him fall. That was her job, her duty; it was in her blood and bones. “Wings,” he went on, directing the pastel point of his interfering nose towards the pristine wings perched to either side of her face. She had also, fitted well against the skin between them, a titanium helm - plated in an intricate pattern with gold and silver. Metal wings fanned backwards from it, pinned securely, as though, with aquamarine centred gemstones (that only complimented the blue in of her irises more beautifully), and the feathers shielding the lower half of hers, looked almost real with copper mottling their perfect lengths. Valkyrie tilted her face away so that he could not touch her this time, and the long, clean-white sweep of forelock moved abruptly athwart the piece. If he followed, the spear she held tightly would correct his mistake. She would never submit to his game. Though in truth he had seen and taken interest in the minor wound she had previously suffered, it seemed to her that Vynter had come to his senses and withdrawn from her space. The pallid young horse took the opportunity to look back to Roscorro. He was standing still where he had always, watching with a most humble expression as the painted man spoke and proceeded to slide away into the jungle. “I’m not hurt…” she almost spat (almost lost grip on the weapon’s short handle), the indignance of youth - and her upbringing - rising back into her tone. Craning her muscular neck hard around, she peered narrowly at the point on her thigh where the sharp vine had indeed struck. To her surprise, a small smear of blood had stained the lovely light-cremello skin there and she promptly adjusted, to try to reach over and nuzzle the spike from their view. Injury meant imperfection, imperfection meant weakness - a thing that was just not allowed. Though she tried and she strained to reach the wretched wound, a month and a half’s lack of workout had rendered her inflexible. “Ugh…” she grumbled under her breath. During this, the appearance of a shining metal spider from Vynter's mane evaded her notice. At some point, as Valkyrie settled back into a more natural position, she glanced by the ground and discovered it nearing. Spiders played an important role in nature, like wolves, snakes; even flies. It never crossed her mind to stand on it, destroy it, or otherwise, but she wasn’t altogether at ease in its presence. The large, clicking arachnid looked like it was metal. One ear swerved backwards, betraying her indecision in the moment and behind her, the thick mass of tethered tail snapped by either flank. Before her eyes, it continued along with what only seemed to be astonishing motivation, awareness, ascending the wood of a stunted, vine-strangled tree, and along the lowest limb toward her thigh. The man returned soon after, and with fidgeting ears and a perplexed expression, the Daughter observed the team effort to follow. Though the skin flinched when the lodged vine was plucked, she made no other visible impression to suggest it was painful; she stood stock-still, waiting - watching intently - unsure just what exactly the man and his tin spider were doing. At least until he began to spit his half-chewed cud on her coat… It was revolting to say the least, and her nose pinched in blatant protest, but right as her lips spread to deter him from lathering putrid saliva - and his lunch? - a second, third, fourth time, he ceased, and she quietly followed his bright gaze to the spider. The peculiar critter had been spinning web into a dressing of sorts, and Vynter retrieved it with unexpected grace (actually, the whole procedure was undertaken with poise and devotion she could not ever have predicted), and pressed it tenderly across the sticky mess which had replaced the stain of her blood. As he moved back examining, clearly moved by his work, Valkyrie stared hard at her thigh with not quite the same level of admiration. It was disgusting… She was torn between smiling for the sake of his pitiful, infantile feelings - faking some gratitude in the process - and dropping to roll that filth away for good. The shadows had inched nearer, brushing without any warning, up against her other side and inexplicable irritation boiled in her veins as the magic therein was stripped properly clear; a flash, however, could’ve even been a blink, seemed to smooth the sensation  (and the living fog), back away. Something pulled her focus free - eyes, his, he was standing there watching her. Struck by her own expectation that he wanted validation (and remembering in good time that Roscorro still stood watching), she pushed forth a half-laugh, masked beneath a grin. “That’s… lovely…” she tried to assure him, thank him, as earnestly as she could manage given the squirm of her stomach at the reoccurring memory. “Thank you!” she added quickly, bowing away beneath a tide of pale flaxen. As she did so, the Daughter noticed for the first time formally, the alien malformation nestled so awkwardly between his bulging, brawny legs; she’d seen the same carved into walls, listened to its mention, riddled through fable - it was that, which she knew to look for, to be certain he was man. Something akin to satisfaction flinched through her mind. It was all so simple, it just seemed wrong. She came to a halt again somewhere near the other - the 'surely a woman' - beast, and pushed the wad of spit pulling individual strands of hair as it dried (the man, and the metal spider), from her thoughts. “Roscorro,” her feminine, naturally sultry, but young voice began. She needed to lift her chin to find his lofty eyes beneath the dramatic curtain of his heavy hair. “Please, is there a place around here, that's cooler?”

@Vynter