Slipping a tentative toe into her boots,

which cling like silver fishtails to her legs,

she hoists on her armour with a little shudder.

It’s cold and heavy and she knows

that all day it will weigh her down.

 

Glances for reassurance at the stone,

a mighty cairngorm crystal on her belt.

Sees her reflection gleaming in its depths,

a pale soft woman, so many tears unshed.

And then the helmet, heavy, plumed,

a burden of protection for her soul.

 

The gloves feel stiff, not very flexible.

But all she has to do is grip her sword.

Ah yes! The sword, most vital thing of all.

It’s got so heavy she can barely lift it

but she knows she dare not step forth

without it’s slashing presence.

 

Dawn breaks, the pink edged clouds

go scudding by.

Ensconced by amulets and spells of protection

and with mottoes scribed inside the breast-plate

of her armour, to protect her gentle heart,

she steps out

to face dragons.