hands on your knees

Raka went on to explain the purpose of the small stones dangling from her horns. How the beliefs of her family had been bestowed upon her at birth. A collector of… stories? It was an odd thing to be told, for one so used to being sheltered - travel was.. Unheard of for a woman. It was… incredible for a young woman to be doing it all by herself. Cierzo blinked in surprise, still looking at Raka through the water’s reflection, whilst her tears began to dry against her cheeks. She was enthralled from the moment Raka’s story of her second stone began.

A wolf of a silver tongue. A woman. A rogue hunter. A… hero. Cierzo was taken aback by the knowledge that a female was out there, doing all those things without fear. It was extraordinary. She didn’t know… women could be like that. A hunter of wolf-killers. How had she done it? Was it quite horrible? Did she show mercy? Did they plead with a woman to spare them? Cierzo’s gaze darted up to Raka’s, her fear of eye contact forgotten for a moment. “Do heroes kill?” They had to, of course they did. Her brother had killed her husband, and he was her hero. Heroes could be killers. They could kill if they needed to. They had to if it was the only way. Her thinking shifted into a skewed train of thought, images of blood and eviscera flashing behind light blue eyes.

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