Prometheus's Gift VII - Camilla and Alruna

    An unrecorded battle to a long forgotten end.
    A corpsestrewn field, two untouched by steel.
    Camilla and Alruna circled, cautious, each raising glistening swords against an inclement sun.  Each was readying for that one, final, crimson dance of death.
    "That ye," panted Camilla, "fight with few equals cannot be denied despite mine own disbelief.  That ye carry the banner of pride and courage as the bane of men and beasts cannot be questioned even by mine own lying eyes.  Thus; it pains mine proudful heart to send ye braying unto the Fields of Elysium for mine sworn duty cannot not be usurped by these wanton desires!"
    "Elysium?" panted Alruna.  "Nay.  T'is Valhalla where thou shalt dine this night, among'st friend and foe, not two score be worthy of thy most divine prowess.  Oh! that which we could achieve, you and I, had my loyalties had not been brand'd thus; my honour chain'd by woeful hearts and a woeful purse, knott'd and pay'd with good copper coin!  Have at it, demoness of the pits, at let we acknowledge the greatest swordstress for now and all time!"
    They clashed in a blurred streak of red and sparks and clangs and grunts.  They lunged, they parried, they chaine'd in a smoothness that betrayed their prodigious speed.  Neither backed down, neither lost ground.
    An afternoon passed.  The dead ripened, the buzzards thickened, two goddesses danced The Crimson Dance.  A wind blew, the blood on the grass dried.  Finally:
    Harried swords clanged to a dead stop.  Two goddesses glared, 17 inch arms flexed.  For more than a moment they matched strength, grunting but each the perfect equal.  Finally, they relaxed then turned and noted the squawking and fleshdrunk scavengers, feasting on their field of dreams.  They turned to the commanding tents, now overrun with buzzards, who's numbers well-nigh blocked the sun...
    17 inch arms relaxed as swords lowered.
    30 seconds passed, two goddesses studied the other.  Finally:
    "I do like your earrings," said Camilla.  "Genuine gold?"
    "Yes, thank you," Alruna answered, fiddling and smiling.  "These were a gift from a suitor, vying for my affections."
    "Ah yes.  I've had many.  Did he win said affections-?"
    "No."
    "Unworthy maggot!  I do hope you spread his innards about the bedchamber!"
    "Of course.  It was but the earrings I desired..."
    Camilla and Alruna giggled.  They stood back then sheathed their swords.
    "If I may," Alruna went on.  "Could you perchance tell me how you keep your tresses in such divine form, even after a day of sweat and battle and bloodletting?"
    "Well," Camilla said, fussing and blushing, "I found this wondrous elixir at the market-"
    "Oh do show me!  My tresses are ALWAYS a disaster after slaying just a few score of men!"
    "Of course!  Do let's go..."
    The ambled off the battlefield, arm in arm, chatting and giggling, stepping over lifeless bodies...