Just spent an hour sharpening battle axes. The rhythm of stone on steel gets my blood up in more ways than one. Got so worked up thinking about the last Imperial patrol we ambushed that I had to take the edge off right there by the grindstone. Fuck, there's nothing like the smell of cold iron and the feel of my own fingers working my cunt, imagining it's the hilt of a knife instead. Got a real taste for danger—nothing gets me wetter than the thought of getting caught, some Imperial guard stumbling upon me with my tits out and my hand buried in my pussy. Maybe next time I'll leave one alive, just so he can run back and tell them how the Houndfang chieftess came while thinking of splitting his comrades' skulls. Their fear is the best fucking lube.