She twisted her thick waist around in her saddle to see if the masked predator was still on her heels. Out of the corner of one steel blue eye she could see the horse in the distance and heard its hooves approaching. Muttering a silent prayer to the Seven, she dug her heels into her mount and galloped away. When she felt that she'd put enough distance between her and the masked rider she fell into a comfortable pace and trotted along wondering who could have been chasing her – and why. She slowed down as she neared a stream, anxious to relieve her thirst. As she dismounted she stretched her thighs and felt the strain and tension of being chased leave her muscular frame. She could not put a word to the way it felt to stretch her legs after a long, speedy ride. She slowly removed her closed helm and gazed at the reflection that stared back at her. "Brienne the Beauty," she spat between gulps of cool water. Her face was weathered but tanned and her cropped hair was messy and in need of a wash. Removing her tight gorget and heavy plate mail she began to splash the refreshing liquid on her neck and shoulders. A sigh escaped her lips as she watched how quickly the water mixed with the beads of sweat on her shoulders and neck, seeming to pool around the tops of her modest breasts.
She turned her head and tried to puff out her chest to suggest a cleavage, but to little avail. Never one to admit defeat, Brienne gruffly cupped her small teats and lifted them as high as she could. A small noise that began in the back of her throat escaped her lips from the feeling her teats in her own hands. While not gentle or smooth, Brienne's hands were a delicate change from the cumbersome plate she was accustomed to feel against her teats. Feeling bold, Brienne squeezed her nipple with her right thumb and forefinger and sank back on her hind legs. Lost in thought, she continued to roughly and clumsily caress her nipple. Licking her lips, she moved her hand down to the tops of her still armoured thighs. Never did she divert her eyes from the mirror that the stream provided.
"No matter what angle you look from, you'll never have the graceful or gentle form of a lady," a voice remarked from behind Brienne.
Frozen, Brienne rushed to cover her exposed chest with her heavy arms and giant hands. "Mother have Mercy," she prayed, admonishing herself about how quickly she'd forgotten the earlier chase. She allowed one arm to falter as she quickly rummaged for her sword.
"Who are you?" Brienne demanded, trying to make out a form from her masked predator, now dismounted.
"Now, now," tisked the voice "I can't believe my uncle sent me to hunt the likes of you."
"Who are you?" Brienne demanded once again.