When the helmet comes off to reveal a yellow-haired and pale-faced maiden with a smear of blood across her jaw, Peter is wise enough not to show his surprise; after all, he has ridden to war with his sisters for over a decade.

Instead, he salutes her with all the courtesy he can muster after three hours of desperate battle, flashing Rhindon towards the glowering clouds. She throws her spear in the air in answer, the bloodied point glinting in the last light of the sun, and the horsemen at her back cheer raggedly.

"Well met, battle-brother!" she calls across the dead, her eyes as bright as her spear-tip. "Now shall we ride them down to victory, or to glory!"