for there are many ways to kill a man they say

Growing pains are a particular kind of ache, one that is not expected past foalhood, when one’s body grows into one’s spindly legs. It’s an unusual kind of pain that seems to differ based on where in the body one is sprouting new bone: her whole skull seemed to ache when her points erupted, throbbing, pulsing with new blood flow and all the signs of the one and only migraine Wessex will ever have. Her tail change was more dull, the kind of constant ache one gets when damaging one’s tailbone, leaving the mare thankful she wasn’t the type of creature that liked to (or was able to) sit. The tail spikes seemed almost like a phantom pain - there, but not. Something she cannot relieve, something that is happening to a different version of her, as if in a fever dream, or some astral projection/otherworldly experience.  

But Wessex is firmly of this solid, rocky Earth - more than some in the herd, it seems. Having checked off the General, the Thief (now Lord), and member of an opposing herd, she now seeks a spar partner either at her rank or below it. It’s a lovely day, and there’s something in the usually stoic mare that says she wants company instead of a solo session, which then sets her mind on a brief fantastical excursion of heroic teachings and public words of praise from Erebos (and oh, perhaps earn a touch and a caress from the gentle Lady!). Weaver, her fellow Corporal, should be her next go-around, but she remembers something about her going on the patrol to the Marsh with the rest of the army. Wessex volunteered to stay back and protect the herd. So down the ladder to the next soldier who is… Beloved. Ah… fuck. Nope nope nope. Even if the white woman is around, Wessex is not ready to tackle that particular brand of ear-less crazy, not even with her additional set of spikes.

Look, it’s not that Wessex dislikes Beloved, it’s that she doesn’t trust the maniacal giggles and the crazy eyes. She’s their Cassandra, without the prophesying or war or lives hanging in the balance. If the white mare were to cry ‘truth!’ would any of them believe her? The fall of Troy - of their icebound home, their Basin, the entirety of Helovia - it could not be. They - all Helovians - would rather take stock in their abilities to work together and persevere than admit defeat in the twisted words of a madwoman. It’s not a thought Wessex wants to face today (she’s stowed the memory of black blood deep in the crevasses of her mind), nor has she the patience or energy to stay twice as diligent as one must in a normal spar. Crazy doesn’t react predictably.

So with Beloved out of the running and Weaver somewhere else, that leaves the newbie soldiers.

Even though the Corporal has been a very busy bee, she remembers hearing the names of the Basin’s newest Soldier recruits: Zunden and Ezital. As for what they look like… eh, the horned woman hasn’t a clue. Peeking out from the rim of her cave, the mottled mare grins: a challenge and a spar all in the same day. Wessex sets out from her ‘home’ near the entrance to the Basin and heads towards the center of the valley, kohl-rimmed eyes peeled for anyone she doesn’t recognize. Altogether, it’s a very pleasant day; the late summer sun is kind in its mid-morning shine, puffy clouds float along on a slight breeze, and even the birds seem to chirp cheerfully. Passing the brilliantly yellow Secret Tent, and the the outer edges of the Lake, it isn’t until she reaches the Crafter’s Cave that she thinks searching this way might be a futile task; the mountains offer ample coverage, as do the swathes of pine trees. She chuckles to herself. Time to make a spectacle her partner won’t be able to refuse.

Standing in the middle of the flat, green interior, Wessex takes a deep breath in and faces the interior of the Basin, allowing her voice to echo off the peaks and into the open space. “Zunden! It’s time to see what kind of soldier you are!” And with that, the prickly woman settles in to wait for her opponent, newly spiked tail waving in a gentle arc behind her. A wave of excitement washes over her at the thought of using her newest toys, and she hopes the (mare? stallion?) Soldier doesn’t take too long to show.

I am Iron and I Forge Myself