A Storm Upon The Waters

Even the incessant rain - really, she’d known nothing like it - couldn’t dampen her mood, not since the discovery of K’yarie, who had more or less been the focus of each moment ever since. With a heart lighter and brighter than it had been for months, Valkyrie strode through the undergrowth clutching a bouquet of tantalising treasures that she had gathered about the forest and secured between teeth and spear. The godly woman she held in such high revere had continued ahead in doughty spirit, drawn perhaps by the wordless song of the very universe itself (or some equally significant calling), and her loyal, attentive fantasist had lingered to piece together an offering of the finest morsels the rainforest region had to offer. All had been laid upon the great green leaf of a palm-type plant and wrapped afterwards, into the shape of a funnel. The carefully selected blooms and close-to-rotting cherries dotted alongside them, peeked in a playful flash of vivid colour out from the top; the ambitious young Shieldmaiden was proud of the arrangement and looked forward to presenting it. As she found the soggy, muddy path they’d originally been following (or the one selected by celestial woman, and Her company by proxy…), a voice rang clear through the soft drum of the rain and Valkyrie paused at once to listen, with delicate ears pitched forward against the cool ridge of her helm. It was a voice too loud and obnoxious to be that of a woman; her curious gaze stiffened and lashes narrowed across gleaming blue beneath, though she was sure K’yarie would more than hold Her own against similarly sounding filth. Nevertheless, lean, unavoidably sullied knees slipped into a canter and she splashed the remaining distance until the outline of the familiar (knowing her now, both by day and by night), figure stood like a stone sculpture atop the cliff. The Daughter might have paused at that point to absorb the majestic quality of the scene, but another stood with her, and the low drone of his voice stirred forth anger not felt for many weeks. “Insolent wretch…” she muttered under her breath, sliding from the shrubbery to slip and stumble across wet rock, and halt at last in the shadow of the goddess. Though a prolific tirade brewed beneath the surface of her scowling expression, Valkyrie held her silence respectfully - aware that the situation was without a doubt under K’yarie’s perfect control. Perhaps, if she paid close attention, she could learn how to manage this, the lowest form of life, so eying the man's wound closely, the pale horse placed her gift by her hooves and waited.