Agathilea (prime)

Legionnaire Agathilea Rassine Vaalor image created by author using AI Midjourney Race Elf Hometown Ta'Vaalor Profession Warrior Religion Student of Kai Affiliation(s) Crimson Legion Reserves GuildMaster- Warrior Guild Wyvern's Honor Greatest Strength Fortitude Greatest Weakness Haste Hobbies Sword play, storytelling, the study of history Likes Challenges to the mind, body, and spirit Dislikes cold weather Loyalties Ta'Vaalor Qalinor Vaalor, Sovereign Commander First Reserve Troupe of the Fortress of Vaalor

Appearance

You see Legionnaire Agathilea Rassine Vaalor the Defender.
She appears to be an Elf.
She is average height.  She appears to be very young.  She has amethyst eyes and sun-kissed, unblemished skin.  She has waist-length, cascading caramel brown hair. She has a well-defined, heart-shaped face and a tiny, dark brown mole on one side of her nose.  Petite, slightly curved ears sweep upwards to a gentle point, perfectly framing her face.
She is in good shape.
She is wearing a dark crimson jacket adorned at the shoulders with gold braid tied into two knots of rank, some shoulder-spiked ornate vultite full plate over a rigid cerise corset, an intricate gold vambrace in the shape of a wyvern, some well-oiled black leather pants, a wide gold silk sash belt overlaid with intricate red eahnor, a leather thigh-sheath, some gilt-threaded crocheted corbeau lamb's wool socks, and some tall dark leather boots with wyvern-shaped eahnor clasps.

Achievements
Agathilea was promoted to Legionnaire by King Qalinor on Niiman, the 8th day of Imaerasta, in the year 5122.
"Speaking to you, Qalinor says, "Squire Agathilea, your steadfast protection of an untried cadet, coupled with work from the ballista towers, drake,
and on the front lines shows me that no job is too small, nor duty unimportant."
Speaking to you, Qalinor says, "For these actions, I bestow upon you the rank of Legionnaire."

Vignettes
Rassine Points of Interest


My Home by Agathilea Rassine Vaalor

You will find the Rassine home west of the foothills outside Ta’ Vaalor nestled in a quiet secluded valley. A looming stone structure with cedar trim captures the eye as soon as one begins the descent of the eastern hills. As one draws closer the carefully tended gardens and fields capture the eye, as well as the quality of the fenced enclosures housing beautiful livestock. An old but sturdy dark-maned stallion keeps a watchful eye from his vast pasture as you draw near. At the entrance of the home an ancient crest is secured above the door, it’s entertwined gold and silver frame glinting in the morning sun. The name “Rassine” is beautifully etched on the arch. Its crimson field bears a brilliant golden wyvern with eyes of crimson blazestar beautifully crafted in a manner to appear ready to take flight. Emblazoned on the vale are the words: “For honor, pride, and glory.” Just below the crest, you notice a badly charred faded crimson banner bearing the words:” Tactical Division-Barbed Phoenix”. Dragonstalk, violets, and a beautiful red hibiscus adorn the front to the right and overflowing herb gardens filled with every herb imaginable run to the left all the way to the edge of the vast outer wall. Carefully placed stones form a quaint walkway up to the massive iron reinforced doors, where you find a wyvern etched iron doorknocker. Further to the west you see vast fields of grain, enough to sustain a farm of this size and more. A small apple orchard borders the fields to the south, and a dark forest is barely visible just to the south of the orchard. To the north a line of hills and valleys continues, faint streams of smoke from other farms barely visible in the morning air.

Behind the home, several huge barns dot the valley, one of which is a lighter colored barn, smaller in size, but just as elegant as the other sturdy structures. The badly repaired crest to the upper left side of the barn is tarnished and unreadable, although the wyvern is still visible. Jagged edges capture your eye as you realize that this crest is still missing pieces of the arch and vale, but somehow with the repairs it remains symbolic in some way. Inside the barn you catch a glimpse of an elevated floor of wood, worn smooth by time. Racks of weapons carefully oiled and polished adorn one wall, and armor and shields the other. Sturdy mannequins of straw lied nestled in one corner, and battering rams are secured against another corner. A whimsical scoreboard of sorts is in the last corner—"Agathilea” marked in chalk at the top, and the word “Opponent” at the bottom. The last recorded scores to the right of each name are boldened to show that the opponent did not fare so well. A gleaming gold silk ribbon hangs askance across the scoreboard, dangling a myriad of wyvern, griffin, and hibiscus charms crudely fashioned from gemstones. 


Breach of Silence


The Coming of Age
The morning sun blinded her briefly as she strolled out of the forest and toward the orchard. Her brother’s death was a fresh wound to her heart, and she kept her pace as slow as possible, yet steady so as not to draw the family’s ire at her absence. Quietly she cut through a corner of the grain fields headed to the shelter of the herb garden for a jolt of fragrance that usually lifted her spirits. Above the quiet breeze and singsong of the field lark, she heard raised voices. “She must know!” That was her grandmother’s husky but firm tone. The thundering reply from her father seemingly quelled even the breeze outside. “I forbid it!”. Pausing only to assess further what she heard, Agathilea decided enough was enough. Grief had assuaged this family and seemed to hold them in a stifling grip. She burst through the kitchen door and strode into the family room. Nodding briefly to her grandmother, she turned to her father and said quietly, “What do you argue about, Father?” Her father’s angry demeanor changed in an instant. Regarding his daughter with a gentle smile, he replied, “I have lost patience with your grandmother’s worried questions once more, and I apologize.” Her grandmother stifled a slight cough quickly and interjected, “I perhaps am too hasty sometimes.” Eyeing both with a cautious grin, Agathilea said, “Whatever it is that the two of you are concealing from me, I wish you would truly consider just spitting it out. The truth can only free one, after all.” Turning sharply, she headed up the stairs to her tiny corner room and began to organize her travel chest. She hummed an old battle tune as she worked, taking care to fold each item carefully. She would not return home for a great while, as her duties to the Crimson Legion were starting, and she had much to learn. Her thoughts sprinted as she packed, first her brother’s untimely death-a hunting accident in which he failed to secure the wild boar he shot with his bow only to be tusked fatally. By the time her father found him, it was too late; his life’s blood splashed across the ground in a macabre crimson river. In his stead, she vowed to the family to go into service. She was more inclined to soldier than her brother. He much preferred tinkering, carving gemstones, and repairing items. A quick question of what her father and grandmother were arguing about touched her mind, but she quickly banished it. She would do well to rest and leave. The family emotions ran high these days, and she had little use for them. Freeing her hair from its tight bindings, she quickly undressed and snuffed the lantern, climbing in between the cool sheets with a satisfied smile. At once, she drifted to sleep, the strong scent of lavender and mint filling her senses from the gardens below. Screams. The bloody screams. Raw images of dark shapes and clammy blasts of air assaulted her as she fought to wake. Something was holding her, piercing her skin with a talon; Agathilea sat up, eyes wide. Her fingers clenched around the dagger she kept under her pillow. She sat frozen, barely allowing her breath to escape. There in the darkness, the images replayed in her mind. She had to have been just 3 or 4 years old. Memories filled her head like swirling eddies of water. Her mother, scooping her up in her blanket and running to the barn, her father waiting in full armor the horses tacked and ready. She was lifted high into the air for a moment, the smell of burnt leather and vultite filling her nose. She was passed back to her mother, who told her to hold on. The feel of the horse under her in a full gallop. The sound of her father’s stallion pounding just ahead of them, snorting as he gained speed. Glimpses of the trees in the forest, looming overhead, as the wind rushed past her ears. Her mother’s heartbeat was steady, then faster as they cleared the edge of the dark woods.

Leaning back against her pillows, she allowed her mind to reveal the memories. Her mother’s sharp command, “Aga, close your eyes.” The strange rush of heat and wind, the smell of burning wood and flesh as her eyes flew open on their own. The sight of bodies, burning where they lay, elves, animals, children, with the structures all around them crumbling to charred remains. Here and there, other landowners, their faces familiar, strode, weapons drawn, searching the blackness. Her father calmly gave orders to move and cover the bodies. The cleric, murmuring over the dead, his face drawn, taught with grim resolve. She remembered the time, how it crawled as she fought to keep still in her mother’s arms. Groups formed and rode off to the south and west, searching for survivors, answers, and supposed reinforcements. Whispers flooded her mind. Although she hadn’t recalled them before, she noted them in the darkness now. “Attacks, hiding, magic, demons, unprepared.” Agathilea sat straight up. She thought, “demons?” How could she not remember this until now? Suddenly a wave of nausea overcame her as the thought assaulted her whole being. Standing, she crept out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Drawing a cup of water from the cistern, she savored the cool water as she fought back the bile erupting from her stomach. Softly in the distance, a lone nightingale reminded her of the here and now. She listened to the delicate song for a moment, then quietly returned to her room. A quick prayer to Kai resolved to uncover the memories fully. She tossed and turned yet slept through the night devoid of dreams. In the dew-laden morning air, she smirked as she entered the barn. No amount of stealth could keep the old stallion from noticing a change in the surroundings. A quiet whinny greeted her ears. Smiling, she leaned against the door to the stall, tossing the apple lightly in her hand. Another second, and the familiar soft nostrils were against her cheek. She whispered to him as he munched the apple, recounting the night, asking what he thought, grateful for his continued friendship. Dark eyes encountered her before the familiar snort and departure from sight. A stallion of few words, as usual, she cheerfully thought. Her mother’s voice pierced the air. “Good morning, daughter.” Turning, she smiled and greeted her mother. “Good morning, Mother.” Her mother quietly observed her a moment, a thin line of disapproval flitting across her face as she settled her gaze on Agathilea’s hair. “Might there be a hint of pride in wearing your hair more fittingly? Agathilea fought the retort that threatened to escape her lips. “Yes, Mother, I will arrange it before I come down for our morning meal.” With a gentle smile, Agathilea’s mother gathered her skirts in a most courtly fashion and gingerly stepped over the sturdy threshold of the barn. “That’s my girl, see you then.” came the soft reply.


The Fortress (Joining the Legion)


The Fortress (Joining the Legion
At the edge of the forest, she quickly removed the petticoats and voluminous skirts with a snort of exasperation. Her mother's tears and dramatic sighs had imposed the wretched garments on her. She sarcastically thought, "wonder if the orcs are impressed by attire." Sliding into her fitted black pants, she breathed a sigh of relief. Off came the heeled boots, replaced with some sturdy leather ones. Pulling the carefully placed tiara off her head, she shook her hair out, gathered it into a simple ponytail, and tucked her hibiscus flower behind one ear. She thought, "much better." Straightening her shoulders and re-arranging her gear, she strode toward the fortress. The monks at the monastery showed her to a small guest room and quietly served her a light evening meal. Grateful for their hospitality, she wandered to the courtyard and looked up into the star-filled night. Turning to her thoughts, she began to contemplate the lessons offered at Voln. She would find her way to the Legion soon enough. A little training with the monks would help, as well as catch her up on the current events of the fortress, for the monks were eager to share all the latest news (and sometimes opinion) with someone new. Several weeks later, she strode into King's Court and met Squire Legionnaire Krystalena and her husband, Orssus. Orssus immediately gave his help at the Warrior guild, thoroughly informing her about training and promotion. Suddenly, First Legionnaire Aureliano politely introduced himself, and her surroundings faded away as she listened, attentive to every word, every inflection to the strong warrior's informative summary of the Legion, service, and defense of the fortress. He took her hand as they visited the ballistae, where patiently he instructed her on loading, aiming, and firing. Then he guided her to the Drake and patiently explained each step, the team effort involved, and the intricacies of building the ammunition for the Drake. Several lessons ensured that she would not forget the routine. Several days later, she swore her allegiance to the Sovereign, the Fortress, and the Legion. At first, the Drills took concentration. Within a few weeks, she felt as if she had been doing them all her life. Tonight, kneeling at the statue of Kai, she noticed a sense of peace within. She looked up at the big eyes staring down at her and gratefully whispered to him of things to come, her dedication to him and the fortress, and her desire to be half the warrior towering over her. The wind rumpled her hair suddenly, and she realized that not once had she dreamed since arriving in Ta' Vaalor. Smiling, she touched the statue in quiet homage and headed out to practice berserk.


Return to the Farm Koaratos 5122 Part One


Return to the Farm Koaratos 5122 Part One by Agathilea Rassine Vaalor
Agathilea awoke to the gleeful singing of birds outside. Stretching, she arose and skipped to the massive bay window in her room, yanking the heavy drapes to one side. Reveling in the early warmth of the sun, she carefully dressed, plaiting her hair in some semblance of order, hoping her mother would not notice her tangled braids caught up in thin ribbon. "All in all, she thought, this will be an excellent opportunity to manage the farm and promote her father's confidence in her ability. My parents may do a little more trade and travel."
Half running, half sliding down the stairs to the kitchen where the curtains remained closed, she blinked at the three elves united in a grumpy mien sipping aromatic herb-embellished coffee grown on the farm. She called merrily, "Good morning!" Various grunts and murmurs came in reply. Grabbing a cup, Agathilea hastily tempered the coffee with a light dose of honey and joined the sullen group at the table. She studied each of them; her grandmother, wistfully gazing out the window into the distance, her father, jaw clenched, and brows knit, staring into his cup as if the answers he sought were floating within. Finally, she settled her gaze on her mother, who maintained a perfectly practiced pose as if in the presence of royalty. She finally asked, "Is everything all right?" The long silence was loud! 
Finally, her father spoke. "Things are fine, my dear. Some items are gone from the cellar, which has put all of us in a dour mood." She asked, "What things?" and could not get a straight answer. The three insisted that the items were old, worthless, and only held sentimental value.
Frustrated, Agathilea stomped down the stairs into the cellar, slowing her pace when she felt the weathered handrail give a little. The smell of dust and mildew lingered in the dark, damp room. She quickly lit the lantern, watching as the light chased the shadows away. She perused the shelves, noting old vases, candelabras, and linens. Following the faint footprints on the dusty floor, she saw the rather sizeable oblong area devoid of dust and surmised it must have been a chest or trunk of some sort. She wondered if the missing items were journals, letters, paintings, or treasures from her parent's travels. Concluding that their extreme reactions were nuances of the elderly, she extinguished the lantern and returned upstairs, taking care to lock the door behind her.
Agathilea spent the rest of the day following her mother and father as they explained the staff's varied duties and routines. She studied the ledgers on her father's desk, noting what debts would need to be paid during her stay and memorizing the salaries of the staff. After supper, she made her way to the stable to bid the old stallion good night and whisper a short story in his ear. She promised to make repairs to the weathered areas of his stall and smiled as the quiet snuffle came in response.  
Before the sun rose the following day, she quietly bid her parents and grandmother a safe journey. Returning to the kitchen, she greeted the staff as they came in one by one, graciously taking breakfast with them and reviewing her expectations for the coming days. Realizing they were reliably capable and required no supervision, she decided to go hunting.  
Thin streams of dew-tinted sunlight invaded the dense foliage of the forest as she silently moved against the gentle morning breeze. Familiar sounds emerged, a snort, a shrill cry, a soft coo. Sensing a change in the lush terrain, she crouched. Just beyond a large thicket, she saw a stag. Agathilea remained still, watching the large deer intently. As he visibly relaxed and began to forage, Agathilea sprang to attack. Simultaneously a branch came crashing down, a muttered curse ensued, and the stag was but a memory. Before she could voice her surprised annoyance, a voice riddled with age called out: You there!
Agathilea adjusted her stance. "No one should be in this forest," she thought. She watched warily as the dark-clad elf limped gingerly closer, saying, "I mean you no harm, girl." Raising her axe, Agathilea retorted, "I am no girl, and who are you, trespasser?" She listened as he replied, his tone measured, "My name is no matter. For you, my child, need more important and critical knowledge."
Agathilea quipped, "If you seek to enlighten me with advice on hunting, your words will fall on deaf ears." A chuckle accompanied the reply, "I dare not. Seek the truth, child, for you know nothing of your family's history. You must seek the truth."
Agathilea angrily shouted, "Who are you to tell me of truth? You who lawlessly walk Rassine land?"
Silence answered her. She peered about, realizing he was gone. She searched the area for signs of his retreat. Nothing. "Likely a confused old farmer from a nearby property," she thought. Frowning, she went down an old trail and slew some hares for the evening meal. She returned home, her anger assuaged by the cook's delicious scones. The rest of the day was well spent reconciling the ledgers for the farm and observing the staff's daily routines.
After dinner that evening, she headed to the fortress for an invigorating drill night with her troupe and Sovereign, who surprised them with his attendance. Returning home, Agathilea smiled at the bath already drawn for her. As she languished in the hibiscus-scented water, she proudly recalled the war camp and her Sovereign's incredible prowess as he fought alongside them. His words, "Evil never sleeps, and neither should you." had caught her attention. She resolved to be vigilant and use her skills to honor the King. Sleep overtook her as her mind replayed the evening's combat maneuvers and the unit's cohesiveness.
Acrid smoke filled her nostrils as fiery stones rained down upon her. All around, bodies. Dwarves. Elves. Humans. Orcs. Zombies. Other undead. As far as the eye could see, blood-soaked bodies littered the ground. A macabre skeleton with only its head and chest cavity intact stared up at her. Rifts of winged creatures shrieked and fought, talons flashing in the light from the fiery stones crashing down. Just as the fighting ebbed, the screams came so loudly that her skull felt like it would split in two. Reeling from the pain, she fought to see more. In a massive flash, she was down on the ground. She heard and felt the words come out of her mouth in a thundering voice she did not recognize. "My death will be her final demise. I return you, evil, to your fate." Then, there was an endless cacophony of thunder, lightning, and darkness.
Awaking suddenly, she realized she was at her bedroom window covered in perspiration. She stared at her white-knuckled hands clutching her axe. Fighting the shiver coursing through her body, she slowly returned the weapon to its sheath. As a wave of nausea overcame her, she hastened to her bedroom door and touched it. Finding solace in the firmness, she slid down and pressed her head against the door, vainly attempting to shut out the dream's images. Rest eluded her, her mind's eye riddled with fragments of a blood-soaked, embattled land over and over. Unable to tolerate the photography any longer, she dressed and hurried to the barn.
She crept into his stall, wondering if he would sense her distraught condition. The answer came as the stallion turned his head and gently nudged her closer to his shoulder. She stayed there, his quiet breathing a balm to her tortured mind. She slept until the sun peeked over the trees. When the stableman saw her, he quickly returned to the house and reappeared with a tray of coffee and scones. Agathilea smiled and nodded her thanks, grateful for his discretion. After collecting her thoughts over the mild breakfast, she gathered the tray and trudged to the house to freshen up.


Return to the Farm Koaratos 5122 Part Two


Return to the Farm:  Koaratos 5122 Part Two
 As midmorning approached and stable hands took the horses to the north pasture, she began cleaning and repairing the old stallion's stall, stopping only to accept supplies and tools from the stableman. There were many floorboards to replace, and she hurriedly began removing the old and rotten ones. One area stood out, with mismatched lengths oddly set at the corner of the stall.   A particular board had numerous pegs and nails, and she began to use all her might to pry it up. "Creeeak!" The board stayed still. She adjusted the edge of her pick and began to poke again. "Creeaaatch"!
Panting, she lunged against the tool. "Crrreeeak!" Eyeing the board with a slight scowl, she put all her weight and might against the pick. Slam! Agathilea went sprawling across the floor, rolled, and sprang upright with a slight growl. As she glared at the offending board, she saw it had snapped in two, and the space under it seemed oddly shaped. She knelt in front of the hole, studying the contents intently. It looked like a box or trunk tilted at an odd angle, most likely shoved under the floor hastily. Working carefully, she managed to lift it out. Clearing the debris exposed the sturdy trunk wood, riddled with old nail marks, dents, and scratches, almost as if an animal had clawed it. Frowning, she pushed her mind's questions to the side and carefully opened the trunk. There, nestled inside, were countless scrolls. She thought, "at least that is what is on top." She picked up one of the scrolls and unfurled it, gazing at the contents. She gasped in surprise at the words before her. "It seems as though I have spent a lifetime at Shadowg-" Suddenly, the scroll crumbled to dust as she scrambled to hold onto it. "No!" she cried out in dismay. She slammed the lid shut. How could she possibly read them if they were that fragile? Clenching her jaw with determination, she carefully opened the lid and lifted another scroll gingerly. She unrolled it slowly, holding her breath. This one appeared to be a scrawled, faded letter to her grandmother. The words disappeared at the top, but toward the middle of the letter, she could make out parts of sentences and began to read them carefully. "Clerical blessing for each child will enable the ____ warriors to continue to wield the ____weapons.
Further down, a sentence stood out: "name shall be __________ to protect from any remaining enemy forces particularly _______." And the words: "Dispel hate and blame, promote unity amongst houses and races." From there, the writing again disappeared. Carefully rerolling the scroll, she returned it to the box, her breath caught in her throat as she contemplated the words she had just seen. A detailed inspection of the contents revealed part of the old family crest, a few tattered ribbons, and a well-worn sheath. "An odd collection," she thought to herself.
A flood of memories coursed through her mind. The cessation of trade with merchants in Ta' Illistim and beyond, the grains instead being shared amongst nearby farms. She recalled loud voices down the hall from her room the night before she left to join the Legion, her mother's angry tone, and her father's blunt commands. The ire her family displayed toward her shared news of court and elves in general. The veiled glances between her grandmother and father when she recounted dancing with Blade Yardie, the stiff, composed responses to her stories of travels to Solhaven and the Landing with the Crimson Legion. Her mother's guarded look when she told her about her experiences at the Festival of Lumnea. A quickly hidden smirk when she admiringly recounted the Argent Mirror's constant kindness. A foreboding thought overwhelmed her. "Could my family have hidden valuable historical records because of prejudice? If so, who put the chest in the barn? Who knew she was the only consistent visitor to the black stallion's stall other than the stable hands?"
She spent the latter part of the morning rebuilding the crude abode for the chest, carefully securing a small trap door with a padlock from the old workshop behind the barn. After applying the lock, she hid the key. Adding enough straw to cover the area, she gave the repaired stall a final inspection and returned to the house.
Sighing, she prepared to return to overseeing the farm, knowing her questions would have a lengthy wait for answers.


Disturbing News


As she rode Xanthus up the well-traveled road home, the quiet morning breeze gently kissed the back of her neck, reminding her of many peaceful rides in her younger years. The old stable hand smiled as she dismounted and handed the reins to him. "He's a fine-looking one, Legionnaire," he said with a knowing grin. Agathilea replied, "Looks can be deceiving; best you not let your guard down with this one, Cal." She gave the charger a warning glance and whispered, "Behave yourself" into his ear as she headed to the house.

As she entered the study, her Father stood and, in one stride, met her, gathering her into his arms. He whispered, "Welcome home, daughter. It has been too long". Teasingly, she replied with a grin, "Or not long enough ." As they both chuckled, she studied him closely, noting the lines of worry, the stern set of his jaw, and the fading twinkle in his eyes. Catching her appraisal, he quickly noted, "Do not concern yourself. It is an old man before you now, tasked with all the mundane things of old age." She countered, "What mundane things, Father?" He drew away from her and returned to his massive oak desk, tracing the edges of the sturdy wood as he made his way to the chair. He regarded her quietly for a moment before evenly replying, "We have had some difficulty with transport and the reluctance of buyers to commit to orders." She listened as he told her of the reluctance of port traders to place larger orders due to the unbridled violence surrounding the port, and how neighboring farms had suffered many losses as well. Her Father added that he had made arrangements to sell to the West, as he had plenty of contractors there, but they both knew the profit margin would be substantially less.  

Agathilea related the encounter with the cobalt-masked bandits by the Legion and fellow defenders of the Fortress,  the disturbing letter from the Eastern Seaboard Collective Traders to King Qalinor, and the pending defense proposal written by Captain Tyavasinne's Father. Her Father leaned forward as she finished her summary and whispered, "Take care, my child. These bandits are not the usual scourge you deal with. Their organized effort tells a seasoned soldier that more is at play here than the usual greed for silver. Outward appearances must not deceive you but rather look at actions, areas targeted, and the ones most affected, both adversely or not."  
Just as Agathilea began her carefully worded reply, her Mother's shrill voice pierced the air. "Agathilea, are you not going to come to greet your loving Mother?" Agathilea tried not to groan before calling, "Coming, Mother!"  She quickly ran through the study door, leaving her Father with a bemused look. 

As mid-day approached, Agathilea left her family with a warning to avoid travel to the Fortress for a short time and a promise to write with updates as soon as possible. She hurried to the stable and caught Cal, the stable hand, just as he was about to nap. Quickly reviewing her concerns for the farm's safety, he nodded as she urged the addition of a few trusted companions to look after the crops and the transports and left him enough silver to pay wages for a few months. With a grin, Cal brought Xanthus out of his stall and handed her the reins. She settled in, adjusting her saddle, and quietly urged the charger toward the Fortress, mulling her Father's advice as she rode.