Golug, were in her humble opinion, a nuisance. Brushing a bit too fiercely her steed, the horse snorted irritably and quickly the Savage Woman patted him on the rump, trying to soothe the beast. After a few minutes of murmuring nonsense to the horse, she went back to her task, muttering under her breath concerning the pointy eared, greenery nonsense loving race. She really disliked the one who had threatened to shoot her. Weak willed, prostrating himself, the young golug had seemed utterly shaken when her companions had shown up and revealed their names; especially when the Golug-Lover said his, as well as his title. For all the bravado he had shown her, he sure was useless and she promptly decided to just forget the elf.
The stables of Esteldin were empty at this hour of the day, or rather, morning she should be saying. She had been unable to catch a wink of sleep and in the end had walked over to her horse, fixing the brush to her wrist with some string and went over, once more, the task of taking care of it. The repetitive motions helped her to soothe her irritation, she had realized, and the smell of clean straw and horses did help her to remain grounded and calm. Perhaps she was born in a place full of horses, she had mused earlier that day and then proceeded to trying to imagine how that would have been. But her mind had quickly strayed back to the matters that had happened the day before.
With a groan, she leaned her head on the horse's back, closing her eyes. She felt tired and drained. It had been yet another fight with the Golug-Lover and they had come far too close to things she did not like to talk about, or that simply were beyond her to fully understand.
Forgiveness? She supposed she understood now what it meant, theoretically speaking, but it made no sense to her. Not much at least. An eye for an eye was how things went in her world, and suddenly she was told that people weren't supposed to do as such.
Golug? She wasn't supposed to be angry at them for having threatened her when she had arrived too close to their lands, starving, tired and wounded. She wasn't supposed to hate them either, nor was she supposed to keep them (partially) responsible for what happened to her and all the others in the Pit. And most of all, she wasn't supposed to speak the language she was most comfortable with. Because they got all cring-y around it. Just like the Golug-Lover did. And that did really not help, for no matter how she looked at it, Black Speech was like a mother tongue to her. She could better express herself with it, even though she doubted that orcish courtesy and compliments would be well taken.
"It's far too tiresome, all of this shite." she muttered in the robe of the steed who snorted again, nodding his head as if he agreed with her. "And I'm still mad at the stupid head." she added as an afterthought before finishing her task.
Looking satisfied with how the horse's coat gleamed in the sunlight, she gnawed onto the strings till the knots released themselves and the brushes tumbled down onto the ground. The woman stared at them for a while and sighed in annoyance. She would have to get someone to help her pick those up...
