Smoke Rising

What things I hear about you, love—they teeter at the rim of credibility, and yet, and yet, my dear, I cannot discount them.

You took to the mountains, they say, with your little band of heroes, to drive out a cult or to slay a godling. It took me by surprise. I know your heart, but I never knew you as a fighter; my gloomy mare, I knew you as a coward. Did you stand your ground, or did you cower as your company brought down self righteous justice on the children of the deep?

Lioness, witch, and warrior priest
The rambling mare who buries her pain
Their captain in thrall to pelagian beast
And the huntress pursuing itinerant game

What can you offer them that you could not give to me?