If they wanted madness, she’d give it to them. She rushed to the fireplace, rose up on tiptoe, and yanked at the sword, praying it would come free and then praying that it didn’t weigh so much that she couldn’t even lift it. The grip was old and worn and the blade not as thick or as large as the ones her kin carried or even those she’d seen the Montgomery warriors carry. The sword came away without protest, and anger fueled her strength as she wobbled under the weight. She turned back to the women who now stared at her with unease. She charged forward, holding the blade high, and bellowed,
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