I cast off the embers of my outer fires and returned to something closer to my civilian life. My cloak, not magical but practical, was dyed brown, plain but well made and just starting to show a little wear. My hair lost its angry red shade for a more natural ginger colour, perhaps a little messier but still tied back with twine into a simple ponytail.

The rest of my clothing was similar to my cloak. Skirt and blouse and boots all made for traveling, all with signs of heavy use. Perhaps it would be time to replacement them soon, but for now they were still good enough.

I left the broken field and the glowing embers of my amour behind and walked to the village I had saved. After a battle I would normally feel battered and exhausted. I certainly felt the bruises and sores, but that reckless, consuming energy still burned within my breast.

Strange energy aside, I also felt ravenous. I headed for the town I had just saved, anonymous and unthanked by preference as much as principle, and sought out some food.

I idly considered the benefits of stealing and slaughtering a whole pig from one of the nearby farms. I felt hungry enough for it and between my meager budget and the twilight hours, I was doubtful I’d find a meal that truly satisfied me. The pig was a fantasy, but a chicken or rabbit was worth more serious consideration, It wouldn’t be the first time I had stolen a small animal in the night to sate my hunger, though it was perhaps the first that the action had seemed so appealing.

I brushed the thought aside as I walked further into town. Consider it all I want, but I wasn’t about to steal a farm animal when I had the funds to feed myself.

The streets were sparsely occupied, do to the time of day, but I seemed to attract more strange looks than usual. Perhaps it was just a reaction to seeing a strange woman walking alone, just after dusk? Maybe I just stank from the swamp. Whatever the case, it was unusual but not concerning.

I had decided by the time I reached the main road that I would rent a room at the town’s only inn, the Red Ram. Right around the time that the pig had come up, I had decided to splurge a little a pay for whatever dinner they had prepared. I would halt the decision for breakfast until after I was a little closer to bed, but I suspected I would decide in favour of it as well.

The ram was a large building with a steeped roof and a wooden sign outside with the picture of a ram, painted in red, with large, curling horns. The door opened into a large common area. Two long, rectangular tables line with benches filled the center of the space, with smaller tables along the sides. There was a fireplace along one wall, empty for the warm summer air and a counter along another.

I approached the counter and greeted the skinny man behind it, presumably the owner of the inn.

“A room, please. And whatever’s leftover from supper.”

The man eyed me suspiciously. Surely I wasn’t so unusual as to warrant this level of scrutiny?

“Mutton stew. Two fangs. I’ll see if any rooms re free while you’re eating.”

Any self-respecting innkeeper would know which rooms they had available. He hadn’t said no, but it was clear he was suspicious of me, though of what I couldn’t have said. That he wouldn’t leave the counter to fetch my food from the kitchen until I paid for the meal was just insult to injury.

This was clearly not a man who put much thought towards hospitality.

I paid up and soon had a large wooden bowl and a heel of bread placed in front of me. I took my meal and found a place to sit, to eat it. The common room was not busy - perhaps there was a more proper tavern in the town - and so I was able to have a small table all to myself. The bread was stale, but the soup was good, thick with vegetables and a fair amount of meat. I promptly started to devour it, enjoying my meal despite the evil eye I received from the owner through.

Well, I started to devour the meal at any rate. In truth, I was interrupted not halfway through the meal. A small group of men had gathered at the counter and, after some whispered talks and a few poorly hidden fingers, one of the group headed my way.

“What are you doing out this way, miss?"

I eyed the man. Polite enough, but also probably the tallest person in the room, standing a full inch higher than the next tallest man from his group.

“Eating.”

“Yes, yes, I see...You see, miss, what I mean to say is that there isn’t a whole lot out here but farm and more farm. We’re on no major routes to anywhere important, yes see. So we’re all wondering what ah...obviously well-traveled lady like yourself is doing here?”

I looked him in the eye and he nearly flinched. Valkyrie aside, as far as he knew I was a normal girl and one practically half his size at that. What could he possibly be afraid of?

“My business is my own. I’ll be leaving town in the morning if I concern you so. Good night, sir.” On my dismissal, the man returned to his group, who collectively resumed their gossip. I tried to return to my meal in kind, but was soon once again interrupted, this time by the owner himself, with his gang of cronies watching intently from behind him.

“Miss, I’m sorry to say that there’s no room available for tonight.”

I stared at him in disbelief. He had rooms. The damn inn was half-empty.

“What’s more, it seems you're disturbing the regulars. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave, miss.”

My nails dug into my palms as I stood up. “What.” I spoke in a very controlled sort of way, deliberately quiet, while on the verge of yelling.

The innkeeper checked behind him for a minute, looking for support from his would-be-flunkies, before dropping any last pretense at civility. “I said out. We don’t want your sort in here.” He loomed over me as he said it, as if trying to intimidate me. The thought was absurd next to literal monsters I had faced and slain mere hours ago, yet also concerning in how easily it fanned the flames of my anger. No matter how much I despised the little man, I refused to let that rage once again get the better of me.

With very deliberate movements, I brushed off my skirt, buttoned up my coat, and walked to the door, all while maintaining as much eye contact with the innkeeper as possible. I allowed my anger one small concession at the door and slammed it behind me. Hard enough that I may have damaged the hinges. I didn’t particularly care.

It was fully dark now and I quickly found myself at the foot of a well. I still felt the pangs of hunger, my interrupted meal insufficient to satisfy me, but was still not quite ready to steal in order to sate that hunger, so I tried to fill it with something else instead. I drew a bucket of water from the well’s depths and drank straight from the pail.

I emptied the bucket and lowered it down for a second helping. I was by then too addled to realize the implications of that action, but for all my obliviousness I was not blind. After draining half or two thirds of the next bucket, I saw dim light reflected on its service that gave me pause. For a moment I thought it was only the moon, but the colour was just a little off and, as the water began to settle, I could see there was actually more than one source of light in those waters.

Sure enough, the moon shone in the bucket below me, but so too did another pair of orbs. They burnt with a dull fire that would certainly not be noticeable in sun- or lantern-light, but which cast off a faint illumination in the darkness of night. That light lit her face, just a little. It made it stand out next to the relative darkness around it, a few shades brighter than my moon-lit clothes. In turn, my eyes stood out on my face. My now orange-red irises seemed to subtly shift as I moved my focus from one spot to the next. As the realization slowly took me I felt shocked, hurt and increasingly angry. As my angry flared to life, my eyes lit up just a little brighter, the fire within them becoming just a little stronger.