Each woman of the Braban stood over twelve feet tall; each towered over any woman in Darachmod.


Each woman of the Braban stood over twelve feet tall; each towered over any woman in Darachmod. One does not fear women like that, for one cannot; I merely stood in awe of their immensity. Having known the love of both Myr and Cyl, together and separately, I felt free to admit that I immediately knew lust for the women of the Braban. They were led into the city amongst singing and waving and cheering. These were clearly friends, beloveds. I had heard many stories about the Braban, of how they assisted their smaller sisters in many a battle, often appearing at the last minute. Nobody knew if they were goddesses or mortals or giants; all we knew was that they were our allies and, sometimes, our final help. That night, Darachmod became engulfed in a celebration honoring the arrival of the women of Brabant. A fire was cast in the center of the city on that hot summer night, pigs were slaughtered and spitted over cooking fires, and the wine flowed freely.

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