She stood at the helm of the riverboat and raced the pike-shaped congregation of egrets above as it flew across the Plain. The cold surged up from the swift water and dueled with the killer heat that scoured the land beyond the river of life.
It passed over her and for a moment she was back.
On the lakeshore, one side of her shivering and one side warmed by the bonfire that ate the snow before it touched the beach. The Giantess' heavy body fit to burst out of the dozen animal skins she wore for her wedding, flushed red and blue. The Giantess surging down to embrace her new husband, then exploding when the rebels struck her with the death spell, splattering blood over the freshly crowned King of the Giants. The brawl that erupted in the stands as the Red Ball wizards raised their winestained fists and struck with their wands, battering the Giant clergy with magic missiles that smelled like juniper and blossoms of annix. The adventurers lashing out with poisoned bolts and bullets and strokes of their enchanted blades. The cake leaping in the air with the lifting charge and detonating at chest height to cut down pikemen and ogre doppelsoldner before they could reinforce their deceased mistress and her guests. The brave mage and his stone men who held the wedding ground against all comers until the red dragon incinerated the proceedings. The mage transformed into a red dragon himself in a gambit to escape the consuming flames, holding off the ancient worm in a desperate melee until it tore out his throat.
She couldn't go back. Not to the path of agriculture and the social contract and duty to family and the Goddess. The path that led her family through the ovens and onto the Giantess' table.
No. For her there was only the life of adventure. Men and monsters. Spells and magic swords. Step into the grave and catch the blade with your heart. Strike while your foe's weapon is immobilized and trust the Godman behind to heal you through the damage. Snap back from unconsciousness or from death and leap back into the fight to be struck down again. O Sun chased over the horizon by Great Moon, then chased by the sun, then the moon again.
The Halflings lying around on the deck were friends she met on the killing floor after the wedding. She had said nothing in the kitchen when the little alchemist had crawled out from under the cake, black with chocolate and coffee dust after planting the bounding mine inside. He held a gloved finger to his lips and replaced his beret and she let him leave without telling the guards, although another bomb would have meant complete extermination of all the slaves in the holding. For this they named her a Neighbor Man when they found her scavenging magic items on the beach. One of the good humans, who could be trusted to accompany them on adventures. Because for them, it was the same. Their village too had been fired and there could be no return to bass fishing and meat pies and blocks of cheese. The only holes in the earth they could now delve were tombs.
