So then. Perhaps that explained why her kingdom had not endured. This was the shape of the world after Ragnarok. If so it had been a battle well fought, and a battle worth fighting. But if so, she had not been called to it. Whatever the reason, the world had burned and it had not asked her to fight for it. The thought makes her jaw clench until a tooth snaps. She spits it out without concern; another is already pushing forward to take its place. The thought also makes her laugh. The dream inside her heart burns fiercer than ever before.

After all, the world has called her now. Countless hundreds of warriors had fought in the Twilight, but only nine were called here to fight in the light of the long Dawn that followed. Calling it something stupid like 'redemption' would be egotistical mockery. This was a [i]challenge[/i]. That's why she'd been pinned to such a wretched priest, and it's why her heart sang at the thought of crushing those elite few who'd risen from slumber to challenge her here even with that weight across her shoulders.

Man or woman. Man or beast. Honored warrior or defiled corpse. King or barbarian savage. Excuses, excuses, excuses. None of it mattered in the face of being [i]chosen[/i]. None of it measured up to the [i]hunger[/i] in her belly. This beautiful world had grown from the ash of the world tree so full of fruit, it could hardly be considered a failing if she plucked and ate it. Her new kingdom would far surpass the old one. This time she'd take the whole of England, and see if she stopped there. Rivers would tremble at the idea of her, and not the other way around. Impossible, that she of all people should ever fear the water.

But just now, the current on the wind was her sea. Just now she slows her prowling, perched on a stone as silent and still as if she'd grown from those same rocks. Schools of little skyfish pass her by in abundance, and she lets them go. Let her smaller sisteren chase the minnows. She had promised her Master a demonstration. So she is patient as she holds her head up to the wind to feel the currents of energy waft across her face. And she hunches in wait for more worthy prey. 

The swordfish comes wielding its deadly rapier. It is wrong to say she explodes into motion, but she hunts. The way she lurches up is almost awkward, especially with the weight of a person still tucked into her arm. They dance for long minutes, it thrashing and darting and almost skewering her precious Master, her bending and loping after it with low laughter caught in every breath. Her empty arm stretches around her back and plucks her ax free. She grips it by the very tip of its overlong handle, and when she swings there is far too much shoulder rotation and a pivot to her elbow. The blade whips about in a wild arc that seems to be travelling in a kind of inevitable seeming slow motion. The proud fish thrashes in response to the idea of a threat. Correct, little warrior. But it never sees the arc of that swing until it's cleaved through the spine.

The fish is heavy enough that the ground near her trembles when its body drops from the air. She breathes deep of the smell, showing more and more teeth with every whiff. And then at last she sets Diaofei on her feet and fells several trees with single strokes in the same lazy overwide technique she'd felled the fish with. 

When the campfire blazes in the night sky, she kicks the massive fish at her Master's feet and upends a huge pile of vegetables overtop of it. There is an absurd amount here: the bounty of several shrines in their entirety that she plucked clean as she passed without even thinking of it. She spears the lot of it on a massive tree branch, and hangs it over the fire. She fastens the ax to her back again, and stretches one long arm to lift Diofei's chin once more.

"I will say nothing for the taste, little priest. But you will eat. And when you have finished I will bring you back to your palace so you can sleep. When you have some strength back, we can discuss our war. These are your king's commands."