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

It wasn’t exactly the respite she was expecting or wanting (it never crossed her mind that he would anything but forthcoming), and she ducked instinctively from the swing of his utterly enormous arm above her. Only after a second, when it occurred to her that his wing was being given as the shelter required, did Valkyrie resume a standard posture underneath; she might have ventured to clarify her need, but Roscorro began to speak first and she was prompted to tighten her jaw around the idea for now, instead. “Vynter?” she slotted a little too casually, dismissively even, in between the giant creature’s words. The spear and orb, together, dropped with a light thud. He rumbled on unaffected, descending from on high to hold her ice-blue gaze, describing the delinquent man’s character flaws – and then the good about him - in a tone seemingly laced with disappointment. Uncomfortable with the unexpected (and, according to her, unwarranted) shift in his demeanour, the Daughter began to fidget in place, shifting weight between flexing forearms and flicking the tied tendrils of her tail against each hock below. Her eyes withdrew from the perceived sternness in his own, sullenly almost, and scurried hitherto where Vynter had a moment before, vanished into the wilds. There was no comprehension – no reason to believe – that Roscorro’s principles might have differed from her own. Listening to his experience only further fed her dogged belief; so why still, in the name of the Shield, did the humble natured giant before her, continue to give him credit? She was puzzled, bothered by it all. Though she stewed at length, she could not find that level of remorse that he seemed so intent to uncover. Valkyrie genuinely did not care for the man, his actions or his feelings. He was unworthy. Simple. Maintaining the same blank, more or less unresponsive mask, she turned her short, sweat-soaked neck and moved back her attention. The hairy beast was still talking, still trying to leave out some speck of compassion. The heat was killing her enthusiasm. At last, the lecture deviated down a path she could actually relate to. Upon mention of her muddied beauty, the pale horse passed a glance down each of her own strapping forelegs - leaning back shamelessly to gauge the best assessment. Indeed there was evidence of her fall out of Loorien; brown grease marred to part way up each limb and she resisted the urge to clean it off herself – who knew what parasitic filth contaminated the fluorescent belly she had entered. As Roscorro’s light, feathery pat brushed her shoulder, she smiled quietly. “Oh you needn’t worry,” she proclaimed in a show of inappropriate self-assurance, “I’ll be alright.” Her perspective was selfish, or so it was becoming apparent (unbeknownst to her), but the past had bred no better quality through her unintentionally shallow character. “I’ll remember your words too, I promise.” She had become rather oblivious to his gaze, much like the ever-present eyes still around them. Valkyrie reached around as far as her lips would carry and brushed Vynter’s spit-wad from her skin. “Ow…” she murmured as it pulled free the hairs its drying mass had ensnared. The mesh of web, herbs and saliva fell to the ground. Pleased – it was written right through her expression – the Daughter smiled warmly towards her company. “Thanks for your help Roscorro!” Now she only needed a good bath in the lake he had mentioned.

@Roscorro