She doesn't see it. She's too focused to turn—but she hears it, the roars of the wind and the water, the way the earth shakes under her. Power. Not the power of the god, but the power of the man is incredible.

And that's a half of the problem eliminated, but there is another part: for the winged ones are sweeping in. And he can attack them, but Roxie is in the way of clearing out the most dangerous concentration, as swarms flow in like water towards the bridge she has to cross.

The pieces fall into place. If she keeps going she's going to get bogged down. And he will, too, trying to save her. The bridge is a delicate point. If she gets knocked away, she might not be able to get back.

She keeps running. But, no—why can't there be another way?

A little part of her clicks through the gears. "" she says, softly, as she speeds towards the bridge. They're already starting to block it. If he attacks, she'll be in the line of fire. No, she can't just keep running. It's a square peg and a round hole... so shave the corners off.

"" she says, louder—and then, almost shouting, ""

The seams of her jacket come undone, billowing into red cloth around her. The cloak, but longer, thicker, flowing like a living thing with her movements. She runs. Almost to the bridge—

She jumps into the crevasse.