Her energy had been spent, and perhaps she felt better.

Better was relative. She had exhausted herself. Even the most stalwart of warriors become exhausted by their endeavours. From the stallion, whose name she already forgot, she had scrapes and bruises, and from the black mare, whose name she had never been given, her lungs ached and her breast burned from the kicks.

Yet the taste of blood was still on her tongue when she dragged herself into this place.

It would never be home- Yazheen was neither homemaker, nor was she a family-starter. She was a gifted soldier that had fallen into the wrong field, and thus she was given a pittance to return to.

Dragging herself through the trees, there is something enjoyable about the place. Somewhere they were waves in the distance, rubbing against the snow-dusted sands of the shore, and even though the air was heavy and dank, despite the frigidity of the winter, there was something oddly comfortable about the place. It did not matter, for she was only here to rest her weary bones before striking out again.

As she wanders, there is a quiet that engulfs her, and Yazheen hears only the thudding of her heart in her breast and feels the swelling of her wounds puckering beneath her speckled skin. Before long she sees a creature, flaxen haired and moodily toeing the earth as if it were going to swallow him whole. “You look as happy to be here as I feel.” Her voice is haggard as she passes him, continuing her way slowly into the lagoon with a slight limp to her step. There is still a prideful way that she carries herself and a sort of angry beauty that clings to her bones, despite her rough appearance. Yazheen continues forward at a slow pace, allowing for the boy to follow her.