Mead. Battle. Mead. Sleep.Train. Mead. Tend a horse. Mead. Battle. Battle. Mead.
Life was all the same. Esma had thrived on the thrill of defeating enemies. Orcs, Wargs...yes, they needed to die.
Yet she was tired. So tired.
It was all the same. Was there meaning to it? The more she defeated, the more came later.
Mead was still her best friend, and would continue to be so. But did she have any other friends? Not really. She was alone.
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