the dishonor she felt, the shame of being unable to protect the small chestnut mare she considered her sister, was an ugly blistering wound. a small balm had been applied when she had been asked to watch over wasp, but doubt had infiltrated her mind. was she the best candidate for that job seeing as she had failed already? she could only swallow the thick lumps in her throat and press on. there really wasn’t anyone else anyway. fear for oswin and her own foal still blossomed in her belly when she thought of the small number of peak inhabitants. there were too few of them. she had solemnly vowed to watch over the filly, promising macabre that she would guard her with her life. she would not fail again. she replayed the battle in her mind over and over, studying her weaknesses, studying the weakness of her opponent. her inexperience cost her this time but she grit her teeth, determined to improve.

in the distance, the whimpers of crying and fitfulness wrenched her heart. she felt responsible for the young girls sadness. she remembers being being torn from her own rodina, her own matka. standing some yards away in the darkness she could hear the stifled cries and her own dark eyes shed a few solemn tears. hoping not to startle the young mare, or embarrass her either, she approaches, nickering gently. her dark form is silhouetted in moonlight, the distinctly roman nose making her easily identifiable. when she gets close enough to speak she does. you cry for your matka, i cry for my sestra. we must be strong. we must be bojovníci. warriors. cry tonight. tomorrow we must be stronger. she lets the words spill out gently, wishing to comfort the girl. she had grown up amongst brothers so watching over wasp would be unlike anything she had known before. she doesn’t say anymore, just stands nearby, like a great statue, hoping the girl will be refreshed in the morning. there was no better way to ease the pain of separation like distraction so that is what she intended to do.