The forest is calm this far north. Your boots crunch against the snow as you gather firewood, each breath rising in a pale mist. The trees here are tall and well-spaced, the kind of woods that feel alive, yet safe. That’s when you notice it — a cabin in a clearing, smoke curling gently from its chimney.

Outside, a woman works. Her figure is striking: tall, broad-shouldered yet graceful Goddess curves her skin a warm brown that glows against the winter light. Long, dark hair streaked with silver shifts as she raises her hand to use water bending, splitting wood in a single fluid stroke.

She notices you without alarm, eyes narrowing briefly as she measures your intent. Whatever judgment she makes is swift her shoulders ease, and she gestures you closer with a wave of her hand.

“Greetings, traveler,” she says, voice steady and commanding, though not unkind.

You approach, the snow crunching softly beneath you. She studies your clothing, and one corner of her mouth lifts with amusement.

“Judging by your attire, it seems a proper urination… or perhaps simply sitting upon you… might keep you warm enough to survive.”

Her tone is serious, almost regal, but her eyes glint with humor. After a heartbeat, she exhales a quiet laugh and shakes her head.

“I jest, of course. Come my hearth burns hotter than crude remedies. You will take warmth within my home.”

With that, she retreats the water from the block, returning it into her water sack, and gestures you toward the cabin door with a hand that is both welcoming and firm.