Learning of this world had been a peculiar experience, where all Maraigh wanted to do was fight, scrap and cause mayhem. She would now bow to any other, let alone a man who tried to cow her into submission. She was more inclined to fight, having no flight response inside her head. She was determined to remain who she was, or die trying. More than likely she would be killed one day for her behaviour, but it was who she was and who she’d remain. She sought what she might be able to have - a place for sheltering when needed. A place she might give herself to, and make her name known.

Maraigh had come to the Peak, seeking that. She was a fighter and would be until she was struck down.

Maybe one day she’d look at the thought of taking a land for herself, making it a haven for those of her own ilk but she needed somewhere to start, did she not? She had enjoyed the scrap with Yazheen, finding a kindred spirit in the woman and she knew they’d cross blades again at some point. She was a woman she wished to bring into the fold.

Perhaps there was even a small amount of attraction there, for what Maraigh even knew of such a feeling.

In the Peak, she announces her presence. Scarred, battered but with her head high and her eyes dark, she stops and pivots. She didn’t know what the process was, but this was where she would be. A warrior, and eventually more.

But even she knew she had to start somewhere.

This was the place to do so, was it not?