A wave of confusion washed across Hertha’s face as she slowly placed her hand around the sword's uniquely shaped hilt. The sword was longer than her arm with oddly shaped letters running down the fuller. With shaking arms, Hertha tried to hold the sword upwards in the air, but the blade was too heavy to maintain.
Ares took hold of the sword, and smiled. "Be patient, we are not finished yet.” Ares grabbed Hertha by the face and looked into her eyes. Before her head hit the ground, he was off once again.
The snow started falling once again, covering both Hertha and the sword. The coldness prompted Hertha to open her eyes once again. “Thor, give me strength,” demanded Hertha. She grabbed the sword and thrust it into the cold frozen ground. “Nei, I can do this.” She pulled herself up by pressing her weight on top of the hilt. After she made it to her feet she looked around. Her eyes were now focused. She no longer had problems with seeing objects far away from her. She grabbed the sword and flung it in the air. “By the Gods, I am great.”
Erica reached for the wooden slab of the door as Hertha was nearing the entrance. “Are you mad, gurl? I was about to send the men for you. If you don’t want to be treated like a barn, you need to act your age.”
“I’m going to fight in the next battle,” insisted Hertha as she pulled her wet clothes off and placed them in a corner.
“Not this again—we have talked about this. You are not fighting. You are not a warrior. You need to gain the attention of one of the Lord’s sons. He has plenty and you can gain honor.”
Hertha looked at Erica sternly. “ The Lord’s sons are sackless.”
I am sure I will go back and I am sure I will change things. I am not sure how it sounds.