Brief shout-out to Jio~! Ice-Scream is a notoriously difficult series to strain canon information from, so I've been doing my best to fill in the gaps and give a bit of life to the characters. And, on that note, it's all the more reason to thank you for your generous reviews! I can't tell you how wonderful it is to receive your feedback, and hear that you're enjoying the story! It really encouraged me to iron out this next chapter. I hope you can continue to read and enjoy the story as it progresses!

- Pyth

Navne did not necessarily take the world in stride, but she allowed herself to experience slivers of it. She couldn't find it in herself to succumb to the swaying heights of emotion, but she let hot tea warm her. Let the pillows be soft. Let the winter breeze be chilly.

Simple things, simple experiences.

But experiences, all the same.

That was something, at least.

Yukisada had been doing his best to keep visitors from bombarding her after she "awakened". The curtains were drawn around the bed where she slept, and the little owl had even gone so far as to craft a handmade sign stating her visiting hours. Thirteen-thirty to fourteen-thirty, Mondays and Wednesdays. This, of course, did not succeed in keeping the most determined of residents from entering. Someone had even snuck in and drawn a picture on the corner of the sign that looked suspiciously like an angry stingray with giant fangs and a razor sharp tail. Yukisada had disapproved, but Peraco had found the sign immensely amusing and asked to keep it after Yukisada was finished with it.

All in all, some time passed as Navne… Recovered.

Recovery, it turned out, was expected to take a while. She'd lost her left arm from the elbow down, a mass of healing tissue across her flesh. And her tail... Her tail had been completely ripped from her body. The former she considered only with vague numbness, ignoring it wherever possible. Most times, so long as she didn't stare directly (and even sometimes when she did) she could still feel her hand. It itched hourly. The flesh, the bone, the sinew…

The latter, her tail, dwelt like a black cloud over her, coiling around her throat and threatening to choke her. Stingray tails were… Especially important. They denoted pride and status. And although she was hardly in touch with herself, that pride was ingrained to a painful degree. Disassociation was easier.

Yes… Much easier.

It was difficult to reconcile the feeling, when one lacked... Feeling.

But at times made a little less easy with her constant caretaker. Yukisada was mindful not to ask her direct questions about what happened (something she was grateful for), but he continually engaged her. Often mundane things like her favourite food or colour, and he gave more than he received. He hadn't always wanted to be a doctor. In fact, his mother had always told him she thought he would make a wonderful teacher. It wasn't until he realized that he really enjoyed science, as well as helping people, that he decided to take up medicine. Yukisada had smiled sheepishly then, adding that it didn't hurt that everyone would come to him when they were injured, anyway.

Small as they might have been, these conversations lent a sense of reality to what would otherwise have been like a faint dream… Or nightmare, really. They grounded Navne somewhat, as a constant reminder that she could place some certainty in things which did not exist solely in her head. At times she wondered at that - whether this whole thing was a dream her dying mind had fabricated. She'd always been a storyteller and her dreams were usually vivid. So it wouldn't have been so surprising if that were the case.

…

… But she would have liked for her last dream to have been a dream about Kel.

...

"What would you like for dinner tonight, Navne?"

Navne glanced up. He'd caught her staring into the wall again. She gave him a slow blink - a sign that she was in thought.

"Hm." Navne inclined her head. "Would you… Like me to make something tonight?"

She saw him hesitate, his eyes involuntarily flickering over her missing limb. From somewhere beneath the blanket of numbness, she felt a mild sting at her pride. If he was contesting her ability to function with a disadvantage…

No, no... He was simply being considerate. She knew this much - Yukisada had been working day and night to tend to her. Something he did not need to do. Something he certainly did not need to do…

A brilliant smile blossomed across Yukisada's pale face. "Yes, yes, of course! That would be wonderful! What would you like to make? I have tubers and dried seaweed, though I'm a bit low on berries… Oh! How about a soup? I have all the ingredients for one."

"Alright."

Despite the fact that she had volunteered her services, the owl anxiously lingered over her side for the duration. She was still adjusting to life in her new state. Things she had taken for granted, as simple as moving from the bed to the kitchen, were suddenly challenging without a tail to steady and a hand to support. When her fingers slipped on the cutting board, Yukisada swooped in to grab it, insisting that he take over the chopping. When her dominant hand started to tire from rinsing vegetables, he urged that she take a break and finished cleaning the rest for her. So Navne sat, instead, watching as he prepared the meal. Yukisada kept a gentle stream of chatter, but it made her feel strangely congested.

Navne pushed open a window, trying to clear the smoke from the room and her head.

"For someone so bloodthirsty, this is a pretty domestic picture."

A low, languid accent that betrayed an earned confidence. It called from beyond the window as if it was meant to be there.

Yukisada froze as she sharply inhaled. She knew that voice.

Oh, she knew it.

"Navn-"

Before Yukisada could stop her, she vaulted from the sill in one swift motion. The owl's distressed cries called out after her, but she couldn't hear them anymore. She landed in the snow, crouched low to the ground. Her senses were honed entirely on the suited figure leaning against the wall. Her heart was in her throat. Her blood thrummed. Her chest heaved.

She knew this figure.

"How's the arm treating you?" The orca gave her a lazy smile, lifting himself from the wall. "Oh, my bad. It probably isn't treating you at all, hm? Since it's gone."

A snarl bubbled in her throat, burning all the way up. She was going to kill him.

His eyes were churning. "Haha. Someone's keen. Well, I'm glad I got to meet you again. After all… We had a lot of fun last time, didn't we?"

Particles of snow exploded in furious flurries as she charged at him. It was foolish. It was reckless. It was violating the authoritative voice in the back of her mind that told Navne she was outmatched, outgunned, and in no condition to fight. That revenge was better served cold. But no - she could no more hear it than the owl behind her. There was only one objective: to tear that man apart.

Her claw glanced off his collar as he swung aside. She was badly off balance, stumbling without her tail for guidance. But she came at him again with a low roundhouse. Unperturbed, he sidestepped. He watched with amusement as she stumbled again.

"You sure you should be doing that? You're not faring so well, little flapjack."

Die.

Die die died-iediedi-ediediediediediediedie-

His grin widened. He seemed pleased.

Navne could feel the invisible cords of her missing hand tightened and convulse beneath her rage, as her corporeal one would. She grounded herself, ready this time when he came for her. The blow was every bit as crippling as she expected it to be. Like a sack of bricks to her gut. But she braced for it, letting the reverberations move through her rather than resisting.

It still forced her back, her boots grappling with the ice below. His strength was nothing to scoff at. That blow would have killed any of her Lessers. But she was still going to kill him.

"Oho."

The orca flicked his cigarette. Flakes of ash drifted from the end in lazy spirals as the wind picked up. He was on her before they touched the snow. His boot connected with her stomach with a solid crunch. She flew through the air, her mind only catching up as the ice skinned her exposed flesh. This time he pursued her retreat, ready to strike again. A monstrous streak of black.

Navne drove her boots into the snow, kicking up a storm of snow and ice. The orca reacted a second too slow. The moment he closed his eyes she sprang forward. Her enduring hand curved in a furious claw, she slashed across his face hearing his pained hiss. She came away bloody and triumphant.

Her enemy retreated a short distance, one gloved hand cradling the injury. He tested it, wiping the blood from his unmarred eye. Navne cursed. A wicked looking gash was carved from one side of his brow to the other, curved near his eye. But missing it. He would recover quickly.

Blood poured down his face, dripping from his chin. His bloodied grin was wide enough to devour. He surged forward, overpowering her one-armed guard with a rough strike to her ribs. As she fell he seized her arm and dragged her into the air. Navne thrashed, aiming her heels for his jaw. She felt her kick connect, pleased despite the danger as his head snapped back.

"Ow!" He staggered.

Navne struggled to free herself as he faltered. Two fingers slipped through his grasp before the grip constricted. Tightening, rather than relinquishing it, as he held her with both arms, now. Stars sprung over her vision. Navne gasped, struggling beneath the punishing pressure at her remaining wrist. Tendered by a white hot flame, she felt him push her bones to the limit.

He was still toying with her.

She strangled the cries in her throat rather than grant him the satisfaction of a scream.

His teeth were bared in gruesome simper, his eyes glittering in sadistic enjoyment. "I think I'll take this one too. The first was quite… Tasty."

A simple punch.

Hard and fast, the first strike connected squarely at the side of his unsightly mug.

The second was a little less swift, but no less punishing. The orca dropped his trophy in a battered heap as Rocma's assault intensified, driving him off the edge of the ice. His lips parted in an astonished 'o' before he hit the water with a hard splash. The sound was satisfying, certainly, but Rocma found a greater pleasure purely in not having to look upon him. And the fact that he'd be taking home a collection of dark bruises and one very angry looking gash.

Her expression soured. The stench of tobacco still lingered in the air, adding insult to injury. He'd had the gall to march into the centre of the village, tainted the area with his presence, and tried to eat Yukisada's patient.

... And he wondered why she hated him.

Rocma circled around the battered stingray, keeping a vigilant watch on the water lest the orca surface once more. The stingray was clutching her stomach with one hand, her breath coming in heavy rasps. Rocma's gaze darted to her and back.

Of all the villagers, Rocma had been one of the few who hadn't bothered to investigate the newcomer in detail. Once she'd established that the stingray was an inoffensive presence, more inclined to peaceful pursuits than attacking others, she had been satisfied. Unless the stingray caused trouble, or overstayed her welcome, there was no reason to push the point further.

…?

….

"Did he take your arm?" The question was posed without inflection.

The stingray licked her lips. "Yes."

Rocma's brows knit together. She didn't like that answer. Not how the stingray said the words, so to speak, for she had responded in a voice as dull as the one with which Rocma had asked. No, it it was more the way the words settled in the pit of her stomach. Like she had swallowed a bad fish. She wanted to rid herself of the sensation as soon as possible.

"... What was that doing out this far?"

"Round," the stingray coughed, red blood on her lips, "Round two."

"..."

Rocma didn't like that answer either.

She would have pressed the ray for details, but the feeling had fermented. She was beginning to think she might not like any of the answers surrounding this happening.

"Navne!"

A frantic voice shattered the gloom. Rocma could see clearly the shape of Yukisada's ahoge above the gathering cloud of snow, pulling Shirogane in tow. The wolf had taken it upon himself to bring along a long black harpoon.

... Hmph.

... Still wouldn't have made it in time.

"Navne, are you alright?!"

The stingray stirred, struggling to get to her feet.

"No, Navne, don't get up! I-I brought a medical kit, just-"

And toppled to the ice.

Rocma considered the ray. And while her paws did not move to prevent the ray from falling, they did prop her on her side to prevent her from choking on her own blood. Strange. And strangely discomforting. The ray's ribs should have been broken from the blow, but she detected only bruising. Hm. Injured or not, the ray inspired a sense of caution. Now that Rocma had the chance to observe her up close, she was beginning to rectify her judgement. The ray had been fighting the orca with a savagery that had the potential to be dangerous.

...

... If you pose a threat to this island, I will remove you.