welcome home

VALKYRIE She stood in the storm It was well that K’yarie’s gently radiating warmth - that tantalising, teasing touch she so craved - was there to ground the impatient, prejudiced young pegasus. Valkyrie stood beneath the shelter beside her favourite celestial mare, still properly aside from the stew of steaming bodies and abhorrent masculinity. Their simpleness, the irritating tediousness of their unnecessary chatter, began quickly to grate on her nerves and she shifted restlessly, casting her pensive gaze towards the ruined silhouette of the city beyond. It wasn’t long after the ludicrous little gathering had settled into dumb conversation, when the flicker of the woken deity's fire-lit crown announced her unorthodox arrival before them; much like her materialisation from the glowing fissure of The Pinnacle before the Matron’s party, the goddess appeared through the plunging water as though fashioned by the very element itself. Where was Kisamoa the ugly? The outmoded…? Curious eyes skirted the fawn-like figure, half anticipating that his dead-like corpse should rise in contrast, from the grave beneath the earth which he’d clearly been pieced together from. Smirking lightly at the thought, Valkyrie resumed focus upon the beautifully female, godly figure, with pointed white ears pressed forward against the melodic sound of each eloquent word given. But the admiring glint in her gaze fizzled sharply and an unflattering shade of indignation was swift to engulf her chiselled face. It was not the mention of a herd that soured her mind so suddenly, nor even the fact that the wisest had selected already two candidates to lead. Nay… The pale Shieldmaidens eyes swam hurriedly through the crowd until they were able to narrow upon the dark-hued face of Roscorro, the beast with the chicken legs, wings, and strange prickly face. She, by now, had accepted her ridiculous mistake: the assumption that the hybrid beast was any better than Vynter, or blessed like herself (like K’yarie, Kiada). She stood there bemused, under a cloud of disbelief, that a goddess as shrewd as she, before them, appeared to be, would believe that a man should found a herd. The idea was preposterous and it took every ounce of her inner-strength to withhold a harsh, derisive snort. Valkyrie’s menacing, icy-blue gaze followed the pattern of those gathered to find the second nominee, Rixen. She had seen him before, though she hadn’t the desire to figure out where, and recalled the rich manly tone of his voice in an instant. The young horse’s heart was thundering wildly, the pulse pounding in her ears… This was a travesty! As though expecting the same heat of horror to be swelling through the expression of the idol she was pressed (unknowingly) against, the young Daughter of Sunnmōre turned her face. “Can you believe this?” she hissed under her breath, completely unable to keep her low tone free of the vehemence writhing through her core, perhaps though, not even loud enough for the star-spangled lady to hear. Without the gift of maturity to draw upon and self-soothe, Valkyrie felt she could bear the situation no longer. Snapping the length of her luxurious tail loudly, enraged further by the returning rumble of Roscorro’s rich baritone voice, she fastened her ears backwards and turning with tightly gritted teeth, slipped away silently through the rain. It was time to get serious. and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.

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