Moonspear the usual

Desdemona walked through the Moonspear with ease, a routine of circling the lands. She marked, she guarded, and watched the outside. Every sound of uncertainty and rustling of unknown was met with a glare of jades, she was unusually wary at the time. Perhaps nerves were stoke and became restless, especially of sparring partners recently, she secretly wished for more, as it felt nice to not be the beaten stick of many, but an equal in arms.

For now she let off the pent-up steam by running around the mountains.