Excelsior!
cried the maiden
surveying
the warriors behind her.
"We ride to battle
my kinsman
and must not falter
as our weary feet
lifts our battlecries,
Excelsior!

She stood
hight
above her saddle
legs straight
with pointed
booted feet
in stirrups
of wood
and iron.

Urging
forward
her tired soldiers,
they swept
upon
the swampy field.

Shields thrust
out front
swords shrieked
as their
victim soldiers
pushed forward
from their
side of the glen.

Mighty shields
protective
coverings
over their skulls,
knives pinioned
swords crunching
unprotected skeletons,
shouting curses
amid their
fighting song,
Excelsior!

She cried,
with indrawn breath;
several times
feeling the weight
of her chain armour
bang against
her empty breast.

With
cunning intuition,
she scanned the field,
with iron clad
gloves that
shielded her eyes,
she searched the field
until sighting her prey
she rode him down
and under
her warhorse's
large footed hoofs,
he died
an ignoble death.

Her energy flagged.

A deepened
groan
rumbled
from a
dumbfounded stomach.

War screams
and full-throated yells
continued
till the echoes
rippled through
the stormy clouds
and allowed
a shortened burst
of sunlight
that deified
her face.

Tired arms
and aching back,
she rode
back to camp;
still triumphant
with her mighty
call,
Excelsior!