He watched her work.

He watched her wade, crane-tall and crow constructed. This side of the world was bitter cold and slushed with snow warmed with red.

The humans called her Quilaztli, some old Goddess of Death from a culture long since forgotten. Some of the older Amarr called her the same.

The rest just called her the Spear.

Exhunia watched with wide eyes as she stood over another body, one that gasped for air, for mercy, for forgiveness to a God she knew nothing about.

In an instant, she showed the human male mercy: blood jetted up in a squirt, splashing across her black abdomen from the sudden sharp force through his heart…

…as she released her spear.