Croatian Tales of Long Ago - Bojana

When dudes begin wounding up for a battle, when they start sharpening their swords, polishing their shields, announcing their limitless bravery… they also start invoking the Gods. They usually appeal to my brother, Gerovit. Sometimes our father, Svarog. Some push their luck and appeal to Perun for help. The twisty among them say a prayer to Črt, as if that one ever helped anyone.

When it turns out that there were not enough swords, that the shields were not strong enough, and that the amount of courage was in fact limited, then the dudes finally remember me. And when a battlefield resounds more with whimpers of pain than roars of euphoria, feverish and desperate prayers arrive at my feet.

And so… sometimes I respond. I mean, there is nothing more beautiful than seeing a man beg. Especially when he is on his knees and covered in someone else's blood. What else can a girl do but some kick ass slaying.

Naturally, when the moment of despair passes, dudes become a wee bit ashamed. Accordingly, they forget to give thanks where thanks are due. Maybe it is better that way because they are having problems representing me with both of my boobs inside clothing. As if I engage in picking flowers, not warfare.

Ugh. Dudes.