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A man? No—rather an animal, coarse and primal. A beast driven by purpose, with nothing to gain from angering his whore. A passion born solely from the immutable forces of Mother Nature, expressed in a manner Garance had seldom witnessed, yet one she knew, deep within, to be perilous. Men had ever been but creatures, slaves to their impulses and their need to assert dominion—over everything, over everyone. This colossus was no exception; why should he be?

Despite the disgust his gesture had provoked in her, Garance had finished quenching her thirst, then raised her head to face the wild man. A savage allure, hypnotic in its rawness—a golem animated by primal force, whom she would have delighted to see kneeling at her feet. The thought stirred in her another instinct, equally feral. Only her eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement, while the rest of her face remained as cold and unyielding as marble.

A silent exchange, yet brimming with unspoken dialogue—the language of beasts. A return to the source, thrilling her to the core. Where others sought their fill of adrenaline through grander spectacles, Garance was content to move among beasts, a trembling doe threading her way through predators. But between these two creatures, she would not risk stepping in.

She stood motionless, entranced, anchored on steady limbs, attuned to the shifting winds, to the tension, and to the fraying patience of the two beasts before her.