Windfall and blessing notched upon the arrow of a tight-strung bow and fired forwards into the atmosphere in declination of chattering young ladies dreams and soft conversation. It's mark places upon a hefty frame of dark Earth and precious bronze and the sisters of fate press strings into the air, pull and tug and weave, and the Princess of the Earth moves forwards with the grinding steps of a monster in the depths of a endless forest.
But the Princess sees and hears none of this, for the woman of Earth is oblivious as all to the works of the divines, if perhaps more, and sees no interest or desire in throwing hopes and adoration towards the figures of the sleeping mind. The ground beneath her hooves is solid and firm, and that is all the Princess trusts in, for divines are fickle and mysterious creatures, riddled with liars robes and the gold of Judas littered around hooves and pressed into thick skin, though not as thick as the greed filled and hunger crazed minds of those in power over the insignificant lives of the mundane.

Instead, the Princess of Earth is resigned into the most tedious, lackluster of duties and teachings, though obligation and responsibility trace hardened tracks within the souls of the woman and keep the rough sinew moving forwards in propelled power and grace. Composed, unruffled, the warrior hums a ancient tune within her impressive sized lungs, mild frustration and irritation lighting within warm pearls and timeless flesh, for if the Kingdom's peasants will not do the jobs set before them and continue order then the Princess shall take it upon her own back and tug and yank with fierce determination. If these people cannot be goaded into controlling their own boundaries, are the peasants worth her efforts and striving? She has seen few and fro of her herdmates - and in the name of Inanna's sweet graces they are herdmates, the Princess realizes, not the civilized members of a Kingdom and it's many laws and systems.
And so on this kalokaíri eve, the Princess is reduced to the jobs of slaves and working men, though she minds little the exercise on the expanse of her broad ship. At least the Princess is not bawled over unto her side, drool hanging from her maw, munching contentedly on the sweet grasses, sweating as some stinking pig and lolling her tongue out unto the dirt as some filthy mutt in the heat of the Sun. No, the Princess would rather march the span of Hel-ow-vee-ah - that was what the soldier, Solace, had titled it, no? before she was driven to sticking her dome in piles of sand as the ostriches of Egypt. And with the rate of the idiots here, she might end up sinking her entire ship before the dawn began to rise over the horizon. The fools that surrounded her dizzied her brain and sickened her core, and the ink within her stirred in pent up frustration and thirst for blood, as if the dealing with idiots part hadn't already made her woozy enough.

As Brighid moved onward, however, a peculiar scent wafted into her nostrils, one of the crisp Wild's (Was the scent on one's coat the distinct odor of rotted corpses and mossy waters? What had these characters been doing in their free time?) and the other of something akin to mold and the Sea, forests and.. the Princess decided mold explained it well.
She had been around the idiots long enough to understand that they did not smell of mold, or rotted corpses under normal circumstances (Or perhaps that was only the pretty girl and her soldier?) and this piqued the Princesses interest. What folly had taken place on this eve that led to such sickening scents on her - It might've as well been hers since her Queen seemed to be about as competent as a lovestruck dove, and just as preened - land?
The lead hooves beneath her heavy ship dug anchors and set sail, and the Princess broke into that of a loping trot, muscles and strength rippling beneath sinew and bay flesh, and the ground beneath her weight vibrated with her digging steps. The offenders would hear the Princess, most certainly, and the Princess cared little for it. What use was stealth if you planned on interrupting a no-good troublemaker in the process of their trouble causing anyways?

The colossus emerged.
A slow halt as stone pearls observe the children that have made place unto her home. The word is filled with sudden obsession and she simultaneously feels her expression harden into granite when she notes that these fillies indeed do not belong here.
Trespassers.

Her home feels weak.
She will prove these disrespectful morons otherwise, if they so choose to linger in the woman's presence.
Rough, warm, and paradoxically chilly her voice flows out from within the deep set of her powerful bosom, a rasp of a growl rising in it's tone.
"Do you have a reason for being on the Foothills land?"
A bitter sentiment is placed through harsh words and melting stares. If looks could kill.
"Or do you make it a job to place your heads willingly on another's doorstep?"


—


Brighid</style>
PUT ON YOUR WAR PAINT</style>