The women rode.

They swooped down on the battlefield, riding on roaring steeds even as their cries pierced the air. Without touching the ground, they swooped past the dying men, taking their pick of the souls who had died. Ahead of them, Death danced, indiscriminate of whom she took. On the battlefield, the Keres accompanied the Valkyries, their keening cries striking fear into the hearts of men. There are many horrors a man will see on the battlefield, they say; but few are as terrifying as glimpsed by men whose souls had left their bodies.

The Goddess’ scythe gathered many souls that night, even as the Valkyries had their pick and the Keres aided the deaths. By the night’s end, there were few left alive. Nodding to the Goddess, the Valkyries took to the skies with their pick of the warriors, while the Keres took the souls of those rejected to the Netherworld. The souls of the innocent were left with the Goddess, who gestured them to follow her.

While Karma spins her threads the Weavers wove.