No Music

That step nearer to the wordless, irritating male stalled unexpectedly as the muffled thud of another’s step nearby, tempted her keen ear to reverse. Quickly those ice-blue, hostile eyes swerved to follow, knifing through the shadow-licked undergrowth (though the dark veil did seem to be dissipating), until they fell upon upon a much larger-looking horse who was moving towards them from the cover. Power resonated through every flex of that enormous, angular body and the canvas of numerous colours tight around it (of markings and gloss), rippled gloriously against the sinew that must have been layered beneath; Valkyrie absorbed it all before studying, with baited breath, the pointed dagger that curved outwards from the very centre of a thick, pallid forelock. This woman epitomised strength and beauty and the smaller, though undeniably self-assured Shieldmaiden,   regarded her with a swiftly softening, intrigued eye. Coming to rest now against newly coiled haunches, she seemed to forget for the moment, that the man still existed beside them - that he too was watching with interest. Atop the other’s spine (barely within view), a bird perhaps larger than all their heads combined, was perched and murmuring in its primitive tongue; barely a glimpse passed it by, for wildlife was not a thing that she cared for… much - although it was lovely on the eye at with a cloak of brown and salmon, and a distractingly fierce stare. Valkyrie’s focus remained fast upon the mare. “Valkyrie,” she announced herself, boldly and without hesitation, easily asserting the young sound of her voice above the stallion (who had apparently better attracted Kiada’s notice), for he still did not speak; only nodded, and nodded, and swung his black, pointed nose about like a dull-witted tortoise hoping to mate. Visibly frustrated, for he was nothing compared to her, the Daughter lifted forth her pale, sloping shoulders and stood a little taller; the wings that had folded themselves smoothly beside each ear unfurled in beautiful exhibit, complimented all the while by the copper-detailed feathers that fanned out from the lovely helm sat before them. Look at me, her exquisite, near-perfect (for her coat still shed in droves), demonstration seemed to shout. Without the experience of rejection to hold the ballooning conceit in check, Valkyrie plainly assumed that her presence would be irresistible in the perceived to be wanting eyes of the painted woman; just as she had been to Sigrún, on those nights of irrepressible lust. Teeth lowered the shining spear to the ground, though her striking eyes did not sever their grip on the woman. “You are from the Rift, Kiada?” She queried as the lingering tone of the warning began to dissolve into the whispering air around them; her tone was different, humbled and gentille. It only seemed appropriate that one so ornate and mighty-looking should hail from a land as wildly impressive as this. In turn, the existence of the man and her intention to destroy him became nothing but a vague mumble in the back-noise of her mind.