It was that time of year again, and the village was making all the customary preparations, with the whole place a bustle of nervous activity. Milled flour was poured into heavy sacks and stacked alongside bundles of flax, surrounded by tanned hides and other assorted goods piled high at the village’s edge. They hoped it would be enough.

Then, just as they were bringing out the last of their tribute, they saw her upon the hills surrounding their land, as massive and intimidating as ever. With a purposeful swagger, the Warrior made her way directly toward the cluster of low buildings, idly swinging her black stone blade back and forth, occasionally cleaving the top of a tree in a spray of broken branches and scattered leaves. The gold that decorated her body glinted in the sun, a single bangle dwarfing any amount the little hamlet had ever been able to pool.

Kicking up a few splintered tree trunks with her last step from the forest, she stopped before the pile -no taller than her ankle- and looked down at the last few stragglers placing their meagre gifts with the rest. Her foot, resting on a great stone buried in the earth, flexed slightly. Fissures spiderwebbed across the rock with a sharp crack, setting the bystanders’ teeth on edge. She smiled a cold, predatory smile and began to speak.
“Is this all the warmbloods can offer? Baubles for our workers and food for their tiny bellies?” She squatted suddenly, her sharp face coming frighteningly close to those assembled below her. “It takes much more to fill mine. And I like meat. Warm meat…”

Leaning forward, she snapped her jaws shut centimeters away from the closest man, sending him leaping back with a cry of surprise as her man sized teeth flashed before him. Reeling back up, the Warrior’s shoulders now shook with a deep, rumbling laugh. “Don’t worry manlings, I won’t eat you. Not while we have our agreement, and you my queens favour. Which reminds me…”

She straightened up, and with her free hand reached into her cleavage, casting about for a moment or two before producing a small form. “Your last offering was pleasing to us, and we require another.” Pinched between her fingers was an exhausted looking young man, covered in what looked like healed bite marks and long, parallel scratches, though looking surprisingly nonplussed by his current situation. Reaching down, she placed him back on his feet, and without straightening up, began to scan the crowd, before her burning orange eye settled on a suitable prospect. With a swiftness unbecoming of her size, she snatched him up, bowling over several bystanders in the process.

With her other hand, the warrior scooped up the pile of offerings, now looking distressingly inadequate. “Let us hope this one is as enthusiastic…” She pushed her prize slowly downwards with one finger, his body vanishing between her breasts “…as the last. Or I’ll be back for more.” She pointed down at the village with a glare, before once more trampling her way back out through the forest, hips swaying with markedly more satisfaction than when she arrived.