There was something about the frigid, ancient, stone of Freljordian ruins, a certain magic that she felt, it called out to her. Whispered voices of shattered columns and broken statues, defaced and snow-covered. She would wonder what this place used to be, when it was whole, how it looked in the summer, spared from snow and ice. Ashe felt at home here, where she could think, where she could dream, an unlikely escape.
All too quickly she was pried from her thoughts, ears perking at the sound of footfalls not her own crunching in the snow. Following her instincts, hands find her bow, unslinging it from her shoulders, a chill already setting in her fingertips. Still, she was stunned by the voice at her back. It couldn’t be. Hastily, she turned on her heels, surprised further still by the sight of the woman before her.
She told herself she knew how this would end, with one of them left bleeding in the snow. Crystal blue eyes reply with an icy glare, calloused fingers finding their place along her bowstring. She had been here before, twice in fact, staring down a former friend, an anger brewing in her chest, one could only be thankful that she and Sejuani had thus far escaped a more gruesome fate.
❝ I should ask you the same. ❞
Bristle tugs at the reins in her hands, hungering for violence he seems to sense clear as day from Sejuani. It ought to be simple, fighting her, killing her. Eyes dance beneath the helm atop her head, breath shadowing her features in clouds of steam whipped away by the wind. Ashe looks so pathetically small and alone from her perch atop her boar. Her mother’s teachings leave her wondering how many swings of her maul would it take for those long fragile arms to shatter.
Sejuani never considered crossing paths with her so soon.
Betrayal feels hot and acrid on her tongue, still fresh as though it was yesterday Ashe turned her back. Once she would have laid down her life and died to protect the Avarosan. And yet -- and yet -- Ashe picked strangers over her. Sejuani’s grip tightens, anger warming her against the cold. Slowly she returns her hands to her reins, eyes fixed upon the bow between them.
“You don’t deserve an honorable death here least of all.” The ruins were for hallowed warriors, a sacred burial ground so few were permitted.
Perhaps it is remembrance that stays her hand, a weakness she has yet to learn to stamp out when it came to Ashe. Her mother would be ashamed. A part of her is all too pleased knowing that as she pulls the reins, guiding Bristle’s massive head away from the other woman. Just this once she stays her hand, honoring what once was between them or rather what was buried in her own heart. Sejuani was certain there was nothing left. Ashe had burnt the kindness from her, taken the hope and left only bitter rage.
“You stray too far north,” Sejuani snaps, eyes fixed upon the distant half remembered monuments. What keeps her in place is likely the ache in her chest. A demand for answers that may never come. Again she tastes rage so violent it nearly sets her hands to shaking. “Go home Avarosan, there is nothing for you here.”
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