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[color=darkgray]It was to be her privilege and duty to lead this year’s class of Eskandish. Nerves nibbled against the honor of it all, but not near so much as her Mother, who seemed only satisfied to devour as much as she could. When Anesin had begun planning travel arrangements, months ago, it had been with a glee and pride sustained by independence; but alas, that was not yet hers to claim. In a flourish her Mother had set up all of [i]their[/i] travel, and [i]their[/i] temporary boarding and if that had not been enough of an over step she was often heard referring to the ceremony as [i]their[/i] big day. Anesin knew better than to voice her opposition to this minor mutiny because her Mother would simply wave a dismissive hand and claim that she was being a petulant child. Instead Anesin adorned the practiced smile and grace of acceptance. After all, it was not forever. Surely even her Mother’s influence would not allow the woman to move into the student dormitories.

And now, as Anesin sat upon the fur lined stool while her Mother paced, she was counting down the hours. It was three hours and twenty one minutes before she mounted Draugar and waved goodbye. She felt it would be the most prodigious goodbye in her life and she wanted to savor it as such. The refined Margravine was scowling over the lady maid's shoulder as she applied the traditional runes to Anesin’s face, chest and arms. They were an inky black made from char and oil and they heavily contrasted against her pale skin. They were keys to a destiny, to a story, one that they would fail to communicate to the majority of people who would be present. But they were a part of this moment for Anesin, and for her people. Her Mother was switching between criticizing the work of the remarkably unflinching woman and going over exactly what Anesin was expected to do and say. Anesin was thinking of Fradje Ironshaper. 

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As was custom the Eskandish gathered together at the end of the parade line.  Anesin stood near the front, chatting here and there with people that approached. Her mother hesitated among the group and for a moment Anesin thought she may take the reins from her hand and mount Draugar herself. But after a few moments of indecision, she gripped Anesin’s forearm and pressed her forehead to her daughter’s, having to crane upwards to meet Anesin’s height [color=white]“I know that you will make me proud little one.”[/color] Then her Mother was gone to her arranged balcony.

[color=white]“I thought she might never leave,”[/color] the voice came from a formidable looking girl at Anesin’s side and immediately called forth a laugh from them both.

[color=8B5356]"Inga. Did they allow no attractive Eskandish to accompany me on this endeavor?”[/color] Anesin was joking of course, even with a merchant title Inga was being sought as a suitor quite intensely and was often present at Court events. This had made them quick friends.

Inga responded with a nod of her head, indicating a specific person in the sea of Eskandish. [color=white]"I did notice that the Third born of Duke Vilulf made the cut your Grace. He’s quite the looker.”[/color] As those glacier eyes followed her friends motion she took in the boy, not for the first time, a blush of appreciation creeping over her pale cheeks. He stood almost as tall as a bear, and assuming he filled out like his brothers he would soon be an even closer comparison. Currently there were a couple of Eskandish girls fawning over him.

[color=8B5356]"He is quite confident for a Third born isn’t he?”[/color] Anesin offered the dismissal and hoped Inga had not noticed the blush beneath the runes. Didn't need any rumors of courtship starting on their first day. Inga either didn't notice, or politely ignored it and carried on. Just as the girls were getting prepared to gossip into the twilight the melodic hum of that katterhorns broke through. Anesin hastily grabbed the arm of Inga and pushed their foreheads together. [color=8B5356]"May the Bear not devour you, but walk your path.”[/color]

[color=white]"And may he also walk with you.”[/color] With that final comment Inga was gone, everyone was moving to their placement. Her distractions faded into place behind her and left her to stare down the parade route. She leapt to grab the saddle horn and pulled herself upon her mount. The mountain of Thunderhoof beneath her, aptly titled Draugar, was no more prepared for this than Anesin was, but he was practically vibrating with energy and wasted no time joining the procession.  As they stepped out from beneath the shade of where they had gathered she gave a small sigil of thanks for the overcast day so that she would not melt before they reached the Gates. The loud and bright nature of the Greenlands and their celebrating was jarring, especially when followed with the deeper horns and chanting of Eskandish songs. The juxtaposition was not entirely uncomfortable though, it felt like an oddly soothing transition towards their future.

Druagar was not soothed, in fact he almost seemed to take this parade as an insult. In fairness, he hailed from the bloodline of the Fury of Eskand and this [i]was[/i] beneath his skills. She made allowances for the restless gait and cantered to the left side of the crowd, the horse rushing forward at the opportunity, and then she flicked the reins and off they went to their right, each time Draugar fully comiting to dive into the crowds before Anesin again twitched the reins and they were front facing once again. It did little to quell their apprehension, but both rider and mount were thankful even for small discords in this overwhelming cacophony of pomp and circumstance. As they got closer to the gate she looked backwards at the Eskand’s who would be with her and gave an [i]almost[/i] bow. Furs and feathers, bones and paint… they weren't the savages that people made them out to be. They were a community. There was the common hall. They drank together. They told loud stories of monsters and men that both seemed to grow larger and larger by the year. They sang songs of myth and legend that carried a tune that matched their icy weather. And warmth wasn't a thing you received from the sky or from music. You received it from each other. She felt that they were losing some of that now. Five years.

[color=white]"The Houses of Eskand, led by Anesin Bjelke, successor to the Margravine of Hrothgar."[/color]

She needed to look forward, and so she did. On the outside she was ever the measure of a noble leading her people. A hooded cloak of woven spider silk and snow white owl feathers covered hair of an even paler shade. Her eyes remained stoic, even as her lips forced into a gracious smile. Those same eyes would occasionally catch those in the crowd and she would offer a measured incantation of her head in response. There was nothing to see beyond her façade, not a single crack on the surface. But beneath... an unfamiliar pang of homesickness struck her as soon as she passed through those gates. Five years was a long time, and she was unsure if the sun would be enough to alleviate the ache of Eskand.[/color]

[hider=tldr][color=8B5356]Anesin arrives leading the Eskan people. Her mother is still overbearing until the bitter end. The horse is cool.[/color][/hider]