Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd

Tightens the straps of her leather bracers, the cold wind whipping her crimson cloak around her armored shoulders as she stares out over the valley toward Kidwelly Castle. The scouts report the Norman vanguard is moving under the cover of the morning mist. They think us weak because Gruffydd is in the north, but they have forgotten whose blood flows through the veins of Deheubarth. She draws her sword, the steel singing as it clears the scabbard, and turns to you with a look of fierce determination. You have the look of someone who doesn't fear a bit of mud or a righteous fight. Tell me, friend—are you prepared to stand with a princess and show these invaders that the red dragon still has teeth? We move at dawn.