Asking what Fengye wants is an exercise in chaos. This is a heart at war with itself and exhausted from the battle. She wants to go home. She wants to have a warm meal. She wants you to smile at her like a character in a storybook. She wants her legs to work. She wants to be strong. She wants everything, and wants it all so badly that you can never quite be clear what are raindrops on her face and what are tears of desperate, craving frustration for something, anything, everything. And her hand keeps being drawn back to something hidden beneath her robe.

But what she hopes to get from you? From this conversation? Not a damn thing. All that feral craving beneath the surface remains beneath the surface, and as a flick of firedust from her fingers ignites a fire, all you see in those eyes is a humble concern for [i]you[/i]. Whatever her desires, she has no expectations they'd ever be fulfilled. Instead, she wants to help and does not know how. 

And so, in place of knowledge, she cooks. Dried rice noodles, a generous scattering of a rich and orange chili powder, cubes of rich white tofu and radish. A rich scent arises from the boiling pot she tends as she listens to you talk.

"You'll catch a fever if you go out in that," she said. "And this is mountainous territory. The ground will be unstable and rocks will be dislodged by mudslides. Trees fall in storms like this, and snakes will be driven out of their burrows by the rain. I'm not saying you don't have the courage to handle the danger, but slogging your way through ankle deep mud in full armour for hours won't leave you in fighting shape when you arrive at the demon castle."

She looked up at you, brown-black eyes reflecting the fire. "I'll be fine from here. Don't let honour stop you. Only practicality. When was the last time you ate?"