Pulling the Valkyrie's braids
By Diana the Valkyrie
A young virgin plays a dangerous game


I stood, gazing into the middle distance, pretending that I hadn't 
noticed Lanky-blush creeping towards me. Another of these silly dares 
that the menfolk of the village used to prove their bravery and 
virility. 

The women hated it, of course. It wasn't just the fear of injury, 
because these pranks did sometimes go wrong and wind up with cracked 
ribs, even though I tried to be careful, you know how it is. It was the 
fact that there was a piece of their men's lives that they couldn't be 
part of, plus the sexual jealousy, of course. 

So what was a Valkyrie doing in one of the Skinnies villages? Well, it's 
the old problem. They breed like rabbits and we don't, and I didn't have 
a Valkyrus. So I just turned up one day and announced my intention to 
stay for a while. They built me a nice long-house, and I showed their 
craftsman how to sharpen blades, and how to cure leather so it's nice 
and soft and supple, and how to get bloodstains out of silk,  and next 
time the raiders from Denmark came, I led the ambush that gave them a 
very nasty surprise and helped them decided that in future they'd raid 
some part of the coast that didn't have a resident Valkyrie. And while 
we were hacking them up, I calmed down enough to remember to grab me a 
couple of nice-looking prisoners to keep my long-hut warm at nights. 
It's best to have two, in case one of them gets injured. 

Skinnies aren't hard to train, you do it one at a time, and use the 
carrot and stick, method. When I untied the first one, he tried to hit 
me, but he made the mistake of using his bare fist. So I just wrapped my 
arms round him and squeezed, and every time he breathed out, I took up 
the slack, until I had him completely exhaled, and then I just waited 
till he blacked out. It's a good way to handle Skinnies, it doesn't do 
them any real damage, and it makes them feel appropriately helpless. 
After I did that to him a couple of times, he got the idea, and stopped 
struggling so much, so I could look at his hand, which thank goodness 
wasn't broken, so I bandaged it up, and told him not to be such a silly 
boy in future, and gave him a cuddle to make him feel better. 

So anyway, there I was halfway up a hillock pretending not to notice 
that I was being stalked, and wondering whether he was going for the 
squeeze on the rump or the breast-fondle, and rather hoping for the 
fondle, because my Danes weren't too skilled at that just yet. I called 
this one Lanky-blush; they do have names, but they're impossible to 
remember. He was a few centimeters short of two meters, hence the lanky 
(I guess he's 50 kilos sopping wet, which was a distinct possibility in 
the next few hours) and he had this delicious way of blushing, starting 
with his forehead, down to his neck, and I was already planning to find 
out just how far this blush extended when he grew up, and this escapade 
showed that at last he was old enough. 

He stopped sneaking when he was about fifty meters away, and started to 
gather himself for the pounce. I was facing away from him, to help him 
convince himself he'd get away with it, with my head to the side so I 
could watch him out of the corner of my eye. He rose from the bushes, 
and started that ungainly run they have, arms and legs going in all 
directions at once, straight towards me. Well, the average was straight 
towards me, there were components in all directions. 

When he was just a few meters away, running full tilt and therefore 
committed, I turned to face him, arms akimbo, and smiling. "Hello, 
sweetie" I said. He grabbed. I was wrong on both counts, it wasn't a pat 
or a fondle, he was after my braids. 

That's another good reason why I took two Danes. It means that in the 
morning, I can have one doing either side while I eat breakfast, and 
this saves heaps of time, because each side has to be brushed, plaited, 
and a ribbon tied in. Because I like wearing a blue ribbon in my hair, 
is why, OK? Plus you can always use it as a garotte, or to tie a man's 
hands behind his back. 

The women here mostly hack their hair off once they get married, it's 
tough enough looking after the dozen or so kids they each have without a 
headful of hair to take care of. Only the young unmarrieds have long 
hair, and that means that long hair signals sexual availability. Not 
that I need extra signals, but every little helps when you're looking to 
bonk a Skinny for more than a few minutes at a time. 

And the maidens hereabouts (maidens, hah!) have fine brown hair, I've 
seen a few of them try to copy my plaits, but their hair just doesn't 
have the body for it. I wear mine big and thick and straight down, so 
you can see it. If you've got it, flaunt it, I say. 

Lanky-blush made a lunge, but in none of the places I was expecting, so 
pushing my shoulders back didn't actually make any difference (like I 
said, if you've got them, flaunt them, and mine are adequate). He got 
hold of one of my braids and gave a good yank. Yow! That hurt! You'll 
pay for that, my lad, I thought. Then he rushed past me, but not before 
I landed one on his backside. 

He almost went down at once, which would have pretty much ended the game 
right then, or at least within an hour or so, after I got off him. he 
staggered, but he managed to keep his feet under him, and galumphed on 
towards the woods. 

I watched him go, licking my lips. Time for Lanky-blush's Rites of 
Passage. As far as I could make out, Lanky-blush was a virgin, but ripe 
for the plucking, you know what I mean? He vanished into the wood, 
thinking he'd gotten away with it. I trotted after him, to where I'd 
seen him disappear. 

When I got there, I stopped and listened. You think the woods are 
uninhabited? They're full of little creatures scurrying around looking 
for food; nuts, and roots, and berries, and other little creatures. 
There's a constant rustling and scurrying, except near me, where there 
was this silence, because everything was hiding and keeping still, not 
wanting to become an item on the Valkyrie's menu. 

The reason you have two ears, is so that you can hear in stereo. Not to 
listen to hi-fi systems, which haven't been invented yet, but so that 
you can hear the direction and distance of sounds. I turned my head 
slowly, listening, listening for the sound of silence. Because, just as 
I was surrounded by a circle of scared, silent fauna, Lanky-blush would 
be too. 

Yes. That way. I set off into the forest towards the silent area that 
had to be hiding my prey. I moved as quietly as I could, because I 
didn't want to scare him into running again, those long legs could eat 
up a lot of ground, even in the clumsy way they worked, and I didn't 
want to chase him, Valkyries aren't built for speed. 

We aren't built for quiet stalking, either. With every footstep, things 
broke underfoot, you could hear me coming a mile away. But I didn't 
think that mattered, and I was right. 

Skinnies have good brains, they just never use them, it's peculiar. 
Instead of thinking, they use habit; instead of planning, they use 
optimism. Skinnies believe that it's bad luck to think about negative 
possibilities, so they assume the best, and are constantly surprised at 
the way things don't turn out they way they'd hoped. Lanky-blush assumed 
that he was hidden so well, I'd never find him, concealed so well in the 
underbrush that I wouldn't see him, keeping so still I wouldn't hear 
him. I suppose he didn't know about the circle of silence. And he'd 
overlooked smell. 

It isn't just the fact that hot showers haven't been invented yet. You 
can get just as clean in a cold shower, ask my Danes. Of course, they 
didn't like the idea at first, but after I showed them the alternative a 
few times, they got quite keen on the idea of an early morning cold 
shower. No, the smell thing comes from smoked cabbage. 

Well, I think it's cabbage. It's some big-leaved plant; they dry the 
leaves and burn them in little clay pipes. Even the Skinnies that don't 
smoke it, smell of it, because of the ones that do. 

So anyway, my ears and nose located Lanky-blush and my legs got me 
there. I came up behind him and coughed, and he nearly jumped out of his 
skin, he'd been totally optimistic about me not finding him. He looked 
like he levitated straight up in the air, then his legs started running, 
and by the time he came down, he was running flat out and he took off 
like a startled rabbit. 

That isn't supposed to happen. When a Valkyrie suddenly appears in front 
of you, you're supposed to be concentrating so hard on not wetting 
yourself that you can't move, a bit like stoats and rabbits. I couldn't 
see if Lanky-blush had had a momentary bladder failure, he was too far 
away by the time I looked. So I counted out loud up to twenty to give 
him a sporting chance, and then went looking again. 

Circle of silence, smell of cabbage. They eat it too, you know. They 
boil it and boil it and boil it, and after it's totally ruined, they eat 
it. You can smell that for miles, it's the canonical odour of a Skinny 
village, and one of the big downsides of living with them. 

This time, I made lots of noise as I approached his hiding place. He 
watched me coming, protected only by his invincible optimism, which was 
only shattered by me standing right over him and saying "Hello, 
sweetie". Well, I knew that Lanky-blush wasn't his real name, but they 
have such weird names, how am I supposed to remember them? I find they 
answer quite well to "Sweetie", their massive egos don't admit the 
possibility that I can't remember their names (actually, I have trouble 
telling them apart, most of them look the same). 

He tried to bolt again, but this time, I was between him and freedom. No 
way out, that's a Valkyrie blocking your escape. He tried, though. He 
attempted to get out between my legs, so I brought them together with 
his waist between them, and he was trapped; stuck fast. I gave him a 
little squeeze to quiet him down a bit, and he gurgled and groaned 
somewhat so I gave him a little extra squeeze to make him feel better, 
and he made a high-pitched keening noise, and I realised he was trying 
not to scream, they can be so brave sometimes, usually the wrong times, 
so I let him go, and he flopped down on the grass on his back, with that 
delicious helpless look they have when they run out of options. 

"Pull the Valkyrie's braid, would you?" and he whimpered a bit. So I sat 
on his belly with my knees on his upper arms, and repeated the question. 
"It was a bet" he said. "I had to pull your braids then run away. Looks 
like I lost. Please don't kill me." I smiled and pulled out my knife, 
Castrator. People often ask me why I named it that; well, what would you 
call a knife, Herbert? 

I held him still with my knees squeezing him, my weight pinning him to 
the ground, as I ran my thumb over the knife edge. Nice and sharp it 
was, what's the use of a blunt Castrator? 

He whimpered. "No, please, no." And his eyes went all misty and soft, 
like they do just before they start crying. 

"Looks like you won, sweetie" I said, as I sliced his trousers off, 
avoiding the incredible complexity of the trouser-fastening system, zips 
being a couple of millenia away. "You're a virgin, aren't you? Looks 
like you won."