As Valencia responds to her enquiry with a simple ‘no’, a light breeze reaches them, rustling the dark locks atop Ravnur’s thick, muscular neck. With it comes the faint scents of other women, confirming Valencia’s words, and when she meets the mare’s gaze again, it’s with a satisfied nod. She’s a little confused when she hears that her new acquaintance has not long been here, however. Ears flicking back and forth atop her head, she frowns slightly and considers this information.

It can only mean that I am wrong, unless she was quick to establish a rank of superiority, she thinks, and finds herself seeing Valencia a little differently in that moment.

Her suspicion is confirmed as the conversation continues, with the pale mare before her lapsing into a concise explanation of the categories and hierarchical system in the Peak. So the only one of any rank is the one who sheds blood. Interesting. Ravnur already knows what she will say before Valencia has even finished.

“I will join you as a politician. And I have one question. How are your ranks settled? Who chooses who will be leader?” She can feel her scarred tawny body tensing, as if anxious to shed blood right there and then. Ravnur, while not exactly a violent creature, loves the simple, honest thrill of the fight and secretly hope Valencia’s answer will be one to sate this desire.

She fully intends to rise in the ranks here, and quickly.