Sleeping Dragon they wanna make me their queen

Eske had waded through the shallows of the nearest water source she could find (Tori isn't sure how far that is, exactly), having taken advantage of the warm, albeit rare afternoon to let the waters rid her coat of the dirt and grime and old blood of prey it had accumulated. She was not so careless about her appearance that there was no limit but Eske was not a girl overly concerned with her appearance nor sucked into needless vanity, either. In battle there was no time for vanity. Part of her was inspired to prove to Gyda that she was not entirely ready to disregard to her appearance and prove that she was perfectly capable of maintaining her own baths without her mother's fussing regulations. It felt good, though, admittedly. And she had enjoyed lazily allowing her coat to dry beneath the warmth of the sun.

Eske had begun to make her way towards the borders, pausing to give her coat another shake. Her fur was still damp, curling in places, but to her immense pleasure was drying with quickness. Contented that her bathe would appease Gyda she was ready to return to her daily routines: border patrol, practice fighting with Gyda and back to a border patrol. This was where Eske felt the most comfortable — when she was fighting. When she was protecting. Both suited her aggressive and domineering personality well and she was oh so eager to prove herself. To Freyja. To Gyda. To Heda. To them all.