Two long and powerful fingers stretch out and curl under the priest named Diaofei's chin. They roll toward the palm and that is enough to lift her head up, though even like this she can't look directly into the hunching warrior's eyes without craning, or without an obliging look down back at her. 

The skin on her fingers is like sandpaper. The palm is no gentler when it turns and caresses Diaofei's cheek. Thick rings and slender rings all of gold feel more like ice against such tender skin. Everything about this giant of a woman is rough and harsh, even the nature of her regal bearing. It's easy to believe she is a king like she claimed, but if it's true then her entire reign must have been in war camps and travel. Had she even once stopped to enjoy the fruits of her labors?

"That was an oath ill sworn, if you meant to join me as my brother." even her frown is toothy, "I cannot be the instrument of your revenge. Whatever form that takes is yours to discover. There is nothing you could offer me, nothing I would trust, that would allow me to walk into battle with you side by side so that our enemies lay dead at our feet."

It's not cruelty in her voice, or even disapproval. Her assessment is harsh, but with her thumb brushing underneath Diaofei's eye and her fingers now feeling their way up along the scars of her shaved head it's difficult to read her tone as rejection. This is a calculation. There is war to be waged, and war is a thing fought with the mind before the body. 

She promised victory the instant she appeared. That requires getting to work.

"I [i]could[/i] still take you as my woman. But I do not think that will work. Your body is as fragile as your spirit right now, and a woman who I take to bed must be prepared to bruise my body as much as I bruise hers. I would break you if I gave you myself, little priest. And I will not risk the Trickster's curse on me for claiming your heart while it is still entwined with hers."

The spirit looks around the room, lost in the thought. Her legs stay hunched forward in a high squat to keep the priest's face and neck in easy reach, and to fit inside the space the building leaves for her. Extended squats, possibly better known to some as horse stance can be some of the most brutal and torturous form of self improvement or training known to man, but she's held this position for several minutes without twitching. Either her legs are even stronger than they look, or something makes a bend like this mean nothing to her.

And then suddenly her arm wraps around Diaofei like a serpent and lifts her back out of the tub to rest in the crook of her elongated elbow, holding her as one might a puppy or a rugby ball. Now she is motion, a pair of impossible stretching steps reaching the door and prying it open, but the feeling of motion never reaches the priest in her arm.

"It will be easiest if I think of you as a treasure, instead. An exotic and delicate flower from foreign lands. Mine to have and my glory for owning you for however long my sword arm stays strong enough to keep you from being taken by anyone else. Do you like that, my Treasure? It is the role you are best suited for in your present condition. I cannot command you as a soldier or safely love you as a woman, but with this much I can anchor our contract and fight even without your magical energy. 

Now come! If you will not rest where I put you then you will at least eat real food when I give it to you. But since you do not have any, we must hunt! We shall return here shortly with our feast, but for the moment this will be the fastest way to show you who you've summoned."

And without waiting for an answer, she is off. Her long, loping strides carry the pair of them down the road and over hills, avoiding the moonlight and favoring the shadows wherever she can. Even in the open air like this she does not stand at anything approaching her full height. If anything she moves more like a beast, low to the ground with her nose pointed toward the air to catch scents on the wind. Her free hand stretches out ahead of her and occasionally pushes off against the ground or pulls her further up the grass as she climbs the terrain. If her other arm wasn't full, the definite impression of her movement is that she would fall to all fours when it suited her without thinking twice about it.

But for all that she is a hunting beast, riding in her arm feels so smooth that it's more like sitting on a cloud. A very rough, warm cloud that won't stop grabbing your butt, but still a cloud.