Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191211213915/@comment-5543592-20191215161557

Nyasia pushed herself out of the mud and stood up. Her hair was thick with it, and clung to her head and the back of her neck, cold and gritty. She wiped the back of her hand off on her blouse and then cleaned the mud away from her eyes.

Sterling watched with, big brown eye half-lidded.

Nyasia rested a hand on the pommel of her sheathed sword and croutched next to him, "Shhh, it's okay, boy." She stroked his neck, the muscles bulging as an occassional spasm took the horse. "I'm going to make it okay."

She could remember when her grandfather had taken her to stables to pick out Sterling, the most recent of a number of foals. That she'd picked a white horse was significant, he had told her, but never explained why.

Nyasia stood up, scimitar screetching from its sheath, and she planted a foot, raising it over Sterling. The horse pained eyes tracked the movement, looking up at her without fear. She had raised him, after all, fed him, washed him, cared for him. She would never harm him.

Nyasia brought the scimitar down in one swift, percise movement, on Sterling's neck, killing him in a single stroke.

She wiped at her eyes again, voice cracking, "Fuck." Her scimitar slid back home into it's sheath, and she took one last look at Sterling, who lay still now. Thirteen years she'd had that horse and he hadn't been anything but a faithful companion. At least he wasn't in pain now.

Nyasia let out a shaky breath and then set off in search of Helian.