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A week passed, during which Durgans spoiled and fragile body tasted a degree of pain and restlessness it didn't remember it could endure. He gathered the few remains he could from the village, and sought respite wherever he was able to find it. While it was clear to him that he couldn't find safety among these remote farms for long, from the queens soldiers and her allies, fleeing off into the wilderness would be an even worse idea. He was thoroughly trapped, while the queen hunted anyone who dared to help him.

Across the land, the declaration of his defiance spread. He became known as a fierce and merciless warrior, who raped little girls who didn't behave, and who raped older girls and killed other men because truly he was a man. He had won their hearts, and they adored him.

...but Durgan knew little of this, apart from the occational little girl who cried out and pointed a finger at him in the street. He had soup, and he had tea, and he had a place to stay. Somewhere in one of the rooms above his own, he could hear the screams and laughter from the farmer beating and branding and otherwise torturing his wife, and he was thankful that his goddess smiled upon him.