“I think I landed on it, specifically,” although it's been a few years and the details were already murky in the moment, blood and pain and fear and her head was swimming and making that shot was a miracle especially considering she'd never held a bow before, which is part of why she says, “and happenstance is a matter of opinion.”

She touches the bow lightly; the cold that's come in handy more than once for burns in the field, the solid, familiar weight of it.

“It looked Avvar to me even when I first saw it, so I wrote a spirit warrior I know from a particular hold. She thinks it's Hakkon's Wrath— the Avvar god of war was said to have granted boons to warriors who proved themselves to him, before he went silent and they could no longer reach him. His wrath is meant for those avenging great wrongs, so to bring down his divine retribution.”

It had felt so real, loosing that arrow into Celene's throat in the desire demon's heroic fantasy.

After a moment, “The Avvar practise spirit worship.”