In the cold northern wind, three men bent and bowed in a frantic rhythm, heads dipping so hard their breath puffed white against their chests.
Their robes snapped and tugged at them, but none dared straighten.
Radeon, currently a branch, puppeteered Fay's body and did not bother to look impressed.
Fay's hand lifted with a lazy flick of the wrist, a queen dismissing flies.
"Enough talk. The first work is waiting by the river. Take it up and haul it back." Fay pointed.
The three men stared at Fay as if she had grown fangs. She stepped to the riverbank and did what no sane cultivator would.
She reached down and touched the water with bare fingers. No protective talisman. No gauze. No hesitation.
Their faces went slack with horror. They had heard the stories. This river did not poison the body first.
It went for the mind. If she could handle it, then she was not some gilded core they could measure.
