Interlude: Vrasha

It was a hot day in mid summer as the woman rode over the hill. She had been traveling for quite some time, and was hot and dirty, the sweat running across her brow. Below her, the horse whinnied, and she petted it with an absent mind. Her eyes were on the forest spread out around her, the road which cut through it, and the bag which hung from the saddle of her mare. She had travelled a long way, and still had quite some distance to go. Her throat was dry, so she unhooked her waterskin, and took a long, deep drink, brushing her black hair from her face. It was cut short, especially around the front and the back. Long ago, she had learned that in battle, hair could be a weakness, a flaw if it were too long. It could cover your eyes, or serve as a handhold for an enemy. She'd seen other warrior women go down that way, dragged to the ground and gutted as they tried to reclaim their feet. Not her. She wore hers short.

Her name was Vrasha, and she was one of the heirs to the throne. One of the most famous heirs to the throne as well. Twenty four years old, and she was already known as a heroic leader in battle, she was a warrior beyond compare, able to fight equally with men, women or beasts alike. It was said that with a blade, she knew no equal, though in truth, this was not the case. Several times, she'd met people better than her in battle. She'd beaten them all, but only because she was the only one who knew they were better. Vrasha wielded her reputation like a sword, she honed it and refined it, and used it to scare her enemies. If they thought she was the legendary battle-queen, then they would weaken, their hearts would know fear in her approach. She would carve through ranks of foes that would otherwise throw her back because at the last moment, they hesitated and she did not.

Her sword was belted at her side, hanging in a rough leather sheath. Her shield was slung across her back. A stiffened shied with a metal plate at the centre, and toughened hide which radiated outwards to form a circle. She was clad in green died leathers, a cloak across her shoulders.

She had been riding for several days now, and more than anything else, was wishing for the trip to be over. Several days had padded since she had sent the letter to her younger brother, but she had gotten no reply. Well, that wasn't unusual, as Kanor was known to be a longer by nature, and she hadn't expected him to respond. Still, it galled her, and she hoped that she would be able to bring it up with him during her visit.

Yes, her visit. The visit which she was sure that he would be dreading. Knowing her brother, he would probably assume she was after the throne! It made her want to throw her head back and laugh. She didn't want to rule. Not really. She was a soldier, a warrior, she craved battle, she wanted to cut a path across the world and leave it bloody and ragged, to blaze her name into history as a general and a leader. Not a queen. But try explaining that to the rest of her family! You couldn't, she'd tried several times. They didn't seem to comprehend that you could be a respected leader who was not a king or queen.

Ah well, their flaws, not hers.

"You know." She said to the horse she rode. "I don't know about you, but I am quite tired. We've been going hard for several days now, and even though I have been walking you when I got the chance, you have to be pretty tired yourself."

The horse snorted, as its kind was want to do. Vrasha smiled, then winced as the smell of her own body hit her.

"I reek." She said with the shake of a head. "I really do smell. I wander if there is a river nearby that I can use to bathe? It wouldn't do to arrive smelling of travel and horses."

The horse snorted.

"Yes, I am sure it's a very alluring scent for stallions. For humans though? Not so much. Hmmm, I've not been this way for some time, but as I recall, there's a river not far from here. Let's go."

She carefully dismounted, catching herself easily on the balls of her feet, and took up the reins of the horse, leading it into the treeline and away from the path. usually, of course, that would be a very bad idea for any woman - or man for that matter - who was alone in the forest. But that didn't matter to Vrash Windblade. That was what they called her, because in the heat of battle, she was like a storm smashing into the enemy ranks. Others called her reckless, but she preferred ''bold''.

Carefully, but without fear, the woman led her horse into the forest, seeking a river in which to bathe.