Aug 16, 2021 8:59:09 GMT -5
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Pacing back and forth Annalinde stared out beyond the bonfire into the night filled with indecision and anxiety, torn between speaking her mind and serving like a true daughter of Bellona. She found herself twisted into knots wondering if she could even call herself that given that her mother had barely acknowledged her, little more than a letter to be given to her upon her birthday, and left her to fight her own battles. Her own internal turmoil. Every time she looked into the mirror she barely recognised herself, the way her cheeks showed the weight she lost and her eyes were changing in colour and depth constantly. She paused for a moment considering the flames, considering the way they reflected upon the very nature of the warrior and she banished the thought even as another arrived filling her mind. She banished thought after thought even as she faced the night before her and the task of keeping the fire alight, to offer sanctuary to the guardsmen and women as they wandered the night.
To come to their aid should the need arise.
The silvery coils of her whip glistened in the firelight as she ran the leather through her hand, feeling the vicious spikes driven into the leather gliding over her skin along the length of the weapon. Seven feet. She could feel the blade at her hip and the boiled leather armour bound around her stomach, her shoulders covered by the very same leather in the style of the Legion. The trees whispered in the wind just beyond the sphere of light within which she bathed, the flickering amber dancing over pale scarred skin as she perched upon a bench and set her whip down. She reached into the small bundle at her feet and pulled out an apple, biting into the sour sphere with a sigh as her eyes once more adjusted to the light and waited for her shift to come to an end. She could feel her bed calling to her and yet she must watch, she must wait and she must stand ready.
Pacing back and forth Annalinde stared out beyond the bonfire into the night filled with indecision and anxiety, torn between speaking her mind and serving like a true daughter of Bellona. She found herself twisted into knots wondering if she could even call herself that given that her mother had barely acknowledged her, little more than a letter to be given to her upon her birthday, and left her to fight her own battles. Her own internal turmoil. Every time she looked into the mirror she barely recognised herself, the way her cheeks showed the weight she lost and her eyes were changing in colour and depth constantly. She paused for a moment considering the flames, considering the way they reflected upon the very nature of the warrior and she banished the thought even as another arrived filling her mind. She banished thought after thought even as she faced the night before her and the task of keeping the fire alight, to offer sanctuary to the guardsmen and women as they wandered the night.
To come to their aid should the need arise.
The silvery coils of her whip glistened in the firelight as she ran the leather through her hand, feeling the vicious spikes driven into the leather gliding over her skin along the length of the weapon. Seven feet. She could feel the blade at her hip and the boiled leather armour bound around her stomach, her shoulders covered by the very same leather in the style of the Legion. The trees whispered in the wind just beyond the sphere of light within which she bathed, the flickering amber dancing over pale scarred skin as she perched upon a bench and set her whip down. She reached into the small bundle at her feet and pulled out an apple, biting into the sour sphere with a sigh as her eyes once more adjusted to the light and waited for her shift to come to an end. She could feel her bed calling to her and yet she must watch, she must wait and she must stand ready.
[attr="class","THREAD2BLTAG"] 349 WORDS @hayana's fourth
