Qeya River there will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn

they seperated once more, this time with an air of finality. she rose and gave a stiff shake of her pelt, small cloud of debris released and set adrift. she looks up in time to catch the mirth in the woman's gaze, and her own stoicness softens. she's pleased at the dull tiredness in her limbs, the way breath seems elusive, though thinks perhaps she might be out of shape. in any case, a woman is more challange than a man, and she's glad for the oppurtunity. "it was," she agrees, and her muzzle curves a fraction. gaze shifts from her to scan the empty plain; all life has scattered or made itself scarce within a wide radius of their bought. "you fight well."