𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐀

...Krigát-sa?...

A horse lets out a short neigh amidst a downpour of rain. Man and wolf alike grunt on top of their mounts, pressed by the hard weather. Their armour clatters as they shift in their saddles, trying to keep their legs in line with their saddles and horse to keep them on top of the animal. The Druzhina's members struggle to keep their weapons at attention with the rough wind pushing them and their spears, shields around. It's not a problem to keep their blades at bay as they simply hang from their belts, but the shield and spear have to be held at all times, making it straining on the muscles. 

Hooves hit the muddy road created by the rain, splash after splash, curse after curse, the Druzhina makes its way onward to its destination - Przeslawa, where all the armies of the Veleti would meet to repel the invaders. 

"The only good in this war so far is that the weather seems to be clearing up." One of the female druzhinniks jokingly noted, readjusting her spear for the thousandth time.

"At least we have our våvådă here with us." Another said to the first one.

"Maybe speak a bit quieter. Thee surely grew to feel for him quick. Alas, thee and us also would not wish for the priestess to get any ideas, would we?" Yet another armoured wolf woman bumped into the conversation, shushing the careless cavalrywoman.

"R-Right." She cleared her throat. "Not my fault he's exactly my kind of male, though!" The druzhinnik re-emphasised in a hushed if excited tone. "Did thee ever comprehend his scent? Have thee ever met some man who smells like wind and iron~?"

"Don't let Jaravita hear thee speak such things. Both the priestess and the goddess herself will come down to murder thee." The other woman berated, pointing a warning finger at her. "I care for thee, but should thee be met with a swift death, don't say I hath not brought thee clarity."

"..." The Druzhinnik fell silent, her ears flat.

"Come on, don't make that face. Maybe thee could figure... an arrangement out with the priestess?"

"R-Really?!" The young wolf exclaimed in excitement.

'No. No chance. Zero. Nada. Navya.' The older wolf thought to herself. She cleared her throat and stated, gradually moving to express her actual idea;

"Aye, really. I'd encourage thee to go and ask, but maybe after this campaign. A company of half a hundred minus one is not the same as half a hundred, no?" The wolf flatly suggested.

"S-She wouldn't... No..." The younger wolf woman stuttered in disbelief.

"She absolutely, completely would. It's aaaall about the choice of words." The Druzhinnik mused, hear gear clicking as she readjusted herself. "Thee  might as well attempt to become the personal attendant of our most serene Rovån Büzăc. It's the best javelin thee may have to dispatch at this foe."

"But I'd prefer him for this one's own dispatch, not sharing... Or not even sharing, less than that if I  have to become an attendant..." The young wolf sulked.

"Who wouldn't, though?" The first of the three wolves bumped in once more with a laugh, having listened to the conversation so far.

"What she said." The older wolf stated, bored.

Faced with the grim reality of her situation, the young druzhinnik wolf was forced to realise that becoming the man's personal attendant was in fact her best shot. After all, anyone claimed by a powerful priestess or priest was pretty much out of anyone's league.

With a heavy sigh among the rain and mud-splashes, the wolf accepted that she would have to do more work than expected to get the man she wanted. A curse on it all...