The woman road through the palace gates. She was grimy, sweaty, and
cursing quietly (and sometimes not-so-quietly) under her breath. Long
journeys will do that to people. When the guards stopped her, she gave
them a look that would have withered a small forest and presented the token
that gave her entry to the palace. That obstacle having been dealt with,
she turned her weary horse towards the stables.
Dismounting, she led the strawberry roan into the dim interior. A hostler appeared, a potbellied, older man with straw like hair. She knew him.
"Hello Stefan." She said with a weary smile. "Miss me?"
Stefan took in the short, redheaded woman who stood before him. "They said you were dead." He replied. "I didn't believe it."
"Yes, well, I have proved rather difficult to kill." She handed her mount over to the hostler, knowing that she would be in excellent hands. "Take good care of Firemane, Stefan. Don't let her bite."
The hostler almost smiled, seeing the gentle, well-mannered horse before him. "Firemane?" he said wryly. The woman rolled her eyes.
"I know, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the time." She turned as if to leave.
"Lady?"
"Don't call me 'Lady', Stefan. I'm hardly a lady."
Now the hostler did smile, and turned his attention to the horse's tack to hide it. "It's good to have you back."
The woman grinned, turned over her shoulder, and strode off towards the palace.
* * * * * *
* *
The woman was not the lioness. True, they were both of the same age. Both had coppery red hair and were short in stature. Both were well known to the royal family, and to those who made the palace their home. However, unlike Alanna, this woman had not been there for 10 years.
The differences continued: Alanna was stocky - this woman was slim, with fine bones. One could describe her as almost sprite - like. Her face was sheer beauty, almost like she had been chiseled out of stone. Nary a blemish was on her. Even with her silky hair pinned up tightly around her head, stray wisps matted to her face with sweat, her beauty could no be diminished. At first glance it appeared as though a strong puff of wind could blow her away. First glances can be deceiving.
Her eyes - they were perhaps her most striking feature. They were large, framed by long lashes. But what made them spectacular was that they changed color. "Like dragons scales" people often said. Whenever the woman would hear this, she would laugh and laugh. No one understood the joke.
In the proper setting, this woman could easily have been mistaken for a noble. Even now, in homespun breaches and leathers, she looked regal. Her only ornamentation was a belt, wrist gauntlets, and a large amber drop on a chain, which was currently hidden beneath her tunic. The belt was made of woven strips of leather, and decorated in the center with the Yamani symbol for strength. The gauntlets were hard leather, and decorated with the figures of dragons. She carried no weapons with her, because she was a weapon.
Everything about this woman was a potential weapon: her beauty, her size, her apparently innocent demeanor - all of this was a carefully honed as the blades in her saddlebags. This woman had one more thing in common with the lioness; they were both dangerous when provoked.
Dismounting, she led the strawberry roan into the dim interior. A hostler appeared, a potbellied, older man with straw like hair. She knew him.
"Hello Stefan." She said with a weary smile. "Miss me?"
Stefan took in the short, redheaded woman who stood before him. "They said you were dead." He replied. "I didn't believe it."
"Yes, well, I have proved rather difficult to kill." She handed her mount over to the hostler, knowing that she would be in excellent hands. "Take good care of Firemane, Stefan. Don't let her bite."
The hostler almost smiled, seeing the gentle, well-mannered horse before him. "Firemane?" he said wryly. The woman rolled her eyes.
"I know, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the time." She turned as if to leave.
"Lady?"
"Don't call me 'Lady', Stefan. I'm hardly a lady."
Now the hostler did smile, and turned his attention to the horse's tack to hide it. "It's good to have you back."
The woman grinned, turned over her shoulder, and strode off towards the palace.
* * * * * *
* *
The woman was not the lioness. True, they were both of the same age. Both had coppery red hair and were short in stature. Both were well known to the royal family, and to those who made the palace their home. However, unlike Alanna, this woman had not been there for 10 years.
The differences continued: Alanna was stocky - this woman was slim, with fine bones. One could describe her as almost sprite - like. Her face was sheer beauty, almost like she had been chiseled out of stone. Nary a blemish was on her. Even with her silky hair pinned up tightly around her head, stray wisps matted to her face with sweat, her beauty could no be diminished. At first glance it appeared as though a strong puff of wind could blow her away. First glances can be deceiving.
Her eyes - they were perhaps her most striking feature. They were large, framed by long lashes. But what made them spectacular was that they changed color. "Like dragons scales" people often said. Whenever the woman would hear this, she would laugh and laugh. No one understood the joke.
In the proper setting, this woman could easily have been mistaken for a noble. Even now, in homespun breaches and leathers, she looked regal. Her only ornamentation was a belt, wrist gauntlets, and a large amber drop on a chain, which was currently hidden beneath her tunic. The belt was made of woven strips of leather, and decorated in the center with the Yamani symbol for strength. The gauntlets were hard leather, and decorated with the figures of dragons. She carried no weapons with her, because she was a weapon.
Everything about this woman was a potential weapon: her beauty, her size, her apparently innocent demeanor - all of this was a carefully honed as the blades in her saddlebags. This woman had one more thing in common with the lioness; they were both dangerous when provoked.