The guards let her out without complaint, despite the early hour. Dawn wasn't for another hour or so, but Asta always liked to get a head start. The sooner this war was under wraps, the sooner she could get on with her life.
Walking towards the stables, Asta was left to her own devices, so naturally her mind started to wander. Before the Dragonborn crisis, she'd been a simple woman with a simple life. A hunter for the Jarl, she'd followed the herds and and dragged the meat back for the vendors and businesses so they'd have something fresh.
Imperials had taken her horse from her. That really hadn't sat well with Asta. The eight year old gelding had been Asta's thirtieth birthday present to herself, five years ago. After finding sanctuary with the Jarl, Asta had happened across her horse when she'd found a camp of dead Imperials. And he'd been dressed in Imperial horse armor. He'd been hers to begin with, and his 'current' owner had either died or ran off somewhere else. Not her problem. She had his sales papers.
Much as she loved him, her horse was a hunt horse, not a war horse. He was fine with arrows whistling by his ears towards a deer, but he didn't have the moxie for swords slashing near his flanks.
Speak of the devil; as she continued down her moonlit path towards the stables, she could see her gelding munching on some grass. They must have put all the horses out to pasture with the nice weather.
Of Gods and Monsters [3b/??]
Walking towards the stables, Asta was left to her own devices, so naturally her mind started to wander. Before the Dragonborn crisis, she'd been a simple woman with a simple life. A hunter for the Jarl, she'd followed the herds and and dragged the meat back for the vendors and businesses so they'd have something fresh.
Imperials had taken her horse from her. That really hadn't sat well with Asta. The eight year old gelding had been Asta's thirtieth birthday present to herself, five years ago. After finding sanctuary with the Jarl, Asta had happened across her horse when she'd found a camp of dead Imperials. And he'd been dressed in Imperial horse armor. He'd been hers to begin with, and his 'current' owner had either died or ran off somewhere else. Not her problem. She had his sales papers.
Much as she loved him, her horse was a hunt horse, not a war horse. He was fine with arrows whistling by his ears towards a deer, but he didn't have the moxie for swords slashing near his flanks.
Speak of the devil; as she continued down her moonlit path towards the stables, she could see her gelding munching on some grass. They must have put all the horses out to pasture with the nice weather.