“Is this really all the village has to offer?”

The question was asked with such dry disdain that it took everything in Taurabun not to huff and stomp. Tucked behind the towering kadin, a tiny farming village lay sheltered in the shadow of Seijalkaum Mountain. Here, it was guarded from the worst of the blizzards that marred Jordskarn, and harvest lay late in the season. One last bastion of food for the north before Seijalka brought winter to the lands.
Before her, standing only to about her elbow, stood a messenger from the gods. ‘Euclid’, he’d introduced himself as when he first arrived the previous year. He wouldn’t name his species. She’d settled on ‘Messenger’. He resembled a ketucari in shape, if entirely too short, and walking on his hind legs. The face was also, _almost_, ketucari-like.
Almost.
If one could get past the massive beak that rested over his snout. The rest of him was… far less like a ketucari. For one, the interlocking halos that spun and swirled together over his head, breaking reality as Taurabun understood it.
For two, he was covered in eyes. Piercing yellow eyes that twitched every which way. Five pairs down his neck. Three singular eyes down his chest. Another pair on his shoulders and thighs. Five more singles down his spine.
And then there were the wings. With more eyes.

Whatever he was, he wasn’t a ketucari, and he came for one reason and one alone: “Their Graces know you produced more surplus than this.” he intoned, several of his eyes piercing into her. The rest twitched and wandered, or at least, the ones that weren’t fixed on the mule whose reins he held. The mule itself was laden down with saddlebags filled with the village’s offerings to the twin gods Aweng and Ceroth.

“The village has grown.” Taurabun answered. She towered over the messenger. One of her antlers was larger than he was. Even so he remained utterly unaffected as she tilted her head down to bare her hind teeth at him and snort. “The ‘extra’ surplus they expect is no longer surplus. These people need it to feed themselves through the winter. Or would Their Graces let their devotees starve?”

Euclid stared, his beak moving slightly. It was hard to say he _averted_ his gaze, when three pairs of eyes remained on her, and the others shifted. The main eyes, the ones on his face, did avert, not meeting Taurabun’s hard stare at least.
“Their Graces expect their due for what they grant this village.” he said, simply. “The village will have to make do with what they are allotted from their fields. Three barrels, filled to the brim, packed atop a mule.”

That he spoke so… _casually_ was infuriating, Taurabun snorted and stomped her foot, clawing the frosty earth. “If these villagers pass another barrel to the gods, on top of what they must pay in taxes to the queen, someone will starve. Tell your gods that if they want more for their tithe they must provide more for the people.” she turned her side to Euclid, arching her back and lowering her mighty antlers pointedly towards him.
Several eyes blinked. He sighed and turned, shaking his head. “...I hope you know what you’re doing, the Twins will not look kindly upon such rejection of their gifts and denial of their dues.”

Taurabun _snorted_, kicking up dirt with the force of her breath. “Then remind them that this village is guarded by _god killers_.” she ground between her back teeth.
Euclid hummed and continued walking. Where the messenger would vanish into the realm of the gods, only he knew. Taurabun watched until she was certain he was gone. Only then did she release the tension in her body and turn to pad back into the village. She… should let the head house know about this… if they had the wrath of the gods to look forward to, they should be aware.