Ravensblood Forest that is my cry

Crap, Bazi thought - of all the drunken fools in the world, that she should come across those with just enough sense to string two and two together. Even after a tree's worth of soft, brown apples, Ragnar had still managed to identify her for what she was - not a shield maiden of Valhalla.

"Do as you please," Bazi responded boldly to his request, keeping her tone as light and ethereal as a mere 'fractious mortal' could. If the earthly scent of her would put Lasher in doubt, she could always argue that it was a manufactured ruse to keep the unworthy at bay - or some other ridiculous lie. She was getting away with murder among the men of her own kind, and was starting to believe herself quite invincible - even though it was a far stretch to think that this creature would inhale her scent and believe her to be of some other world. But crazier things had happened.

She stood quite still, arranged like some pleasant porcelain figurine destined to look out on the world from glass cases. Should she stop breathing? No - that would be too difficult a lie to maintain.