The anchor that keeps my feet on the ground

“Ha!” Her answering laugh is short and sharp, Like the old days. “This place has made me soft and round, I will need to get back to practicing, and find some good weapons.” Still, there was an eagerness to her reply, a longing to do what she was born to, that has too long been lost to her between tragedy and trying to find her feet away from home. She was no farmer, and it was time she stopped acting like one.

Her gaze narrows on a herd of big wooly goats, picking their way down into the valley under the cover of failing light, probably seeking the soft green grass and water that is lacking up in their rockier habitat. She tip her chin, a silent question. Was it worth risking the horns or should they wait for something softer to come along?

“Speech”