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Archibald Loretta We are the ones who will never be broken With our final breath We’ll fight to the death We are soldiers, we are soldiers  Archibald was not surprised by her actions, turning back towards her land and asking him to follow her. He did so, though with his ears cocked backwards skeptically. He felt no threat from her, and he knew she did not have warriors hiding in the trees waiting to jump and murder him, for Loretta's keen nose and eyes would have detected them long ago. The Dauntless and his bitch were not simple-minded creatures.
"You have not given me your title." He noted simply, coming to the conclusion that she must be escorting him to her superior. Her body did not look crafted well enough to be a warrior--no, she was lithe and smooth, something of a more civilized, quiet profession he assumed. Turning his golden eyes sideways to Loretta, trotting at his heels between him and the painted mare, he nodded simply. She was a beautiful specimen, painted in the finest hues of red and white, her eyes a fiery amber. Her muscles were taught, her coat well taken care of. She was as beautiful as she was deadly, that was certain. The warlord nodded again, turning his gaze back towards Kahlua momentarily before he looked ahead at their path.
Her tongue was smooth as a gentle stream, trickling into his ears with questions--simple, innocent, curious questions--questions he knew other leaders would ask. Ophelia, Gossamer, Evers; they would all ask such questions. They were all scholars, and his assumption that Kahlua followed that path was being continually solidified in these short moments they shared together. "Whether in peace or at war, soldiers need to be strong and able. Knowledge is half of the battle, and warriors that are well-versed in the art of physical combat will be as eager to train their minds. In peace, warriors train, and maintain safety. Soldiers are guardians." His words bounced off the trees, reverberating deep in his chest. His voice was toned dark, deep and hardened by many years of his life--which greatly resembled a raging, rapid-filled river in his memory now--but he was also calm and wise.
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I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.
please tag me
