[What a disgusting picture he makes- so close to how she must have looked that night that she wants to grind his nose into the dirt beneath her hoof. The stench of his vomit is a nostalgic reminder of bile in her own throat, and for a moment she can smell it again- that room where Mikuni, that black yearling barely out of foalhood, had smiled his twisted smile and held out the human liver in offering, his other hand clutching still the blade that had cut it from the bloody corpse.
But nobody cared about that- and not about him, or her, or anything. Why would they? Why should they, in this shit hole?]
Then die, or live on to mourn those who are true warriors.
[Should she say it enough, it will become so.
Her white knuckles clutch her bow, and she pulls another arrow from her rapidly dwindling quiver supply, turning her back to him and leaving him where she'd placed him, first trotting, then breaking into a canter right back towards the minotaur beast, black hair and tail streaming out behind her towards potential death in battle.
no subject
But nobody cared about that- and not about him, or her, or anything. Why would they? Why should they, in this shit hole?]
Then die, or live on to mourn those who are true warriors.
[Should she say it enough, it will become so.
Her white knuckles clutch her bow, and she pulls another arrow from her rapidly dwindling quiver supply, turning her back to him and leaving him where she'd placed him, first trotting, then breaking into a canter right back towards the minotaur beast, black hair and tail streaming out behind her towards potential death in battle.
If things would only be so simple.]