Screaming bloody murder

The biting cold had exacted its toll on Kyanite, leaving her on the brink of freezing, her voice barely audible past angry mutterings. Outwardly, Setekh paid little heed to her suffering, instead positioning her against the ship's hull to pry open the door before returning to assist her inside.

Once within the shelter of the ship, Kyanite's agony intensified in the newfound warmth, amplifying the pain that had already gripped her. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she crumpled to the floor, her torment evident as it wiped away her haughty defiance for a moment. Setekh, observing her plight, suppressed a smirk. Though he had offered his assistance, her choice of refuge left him with only one course of action – a crude resetting of her limb without the luxury of pain relief. He prepared to proceed, drawing upon the numerous lessons of his youth, when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts.

Listening intently, Setekh observed as Kyanite attempted to stifle her cries by shoving her paw in her mouth. Part of him yearned to remove her hand and revel in the full extent of her suffering, but the arrival of their unexpected guest stayed his hand.

A man, akin in age to Kyanite, approached and began to tend to her with a familial string of words. Setekh's smirk widened as he regarded the scene with amusement, and the God drifted gracefully into the space above Kyanite’s skull – partially hoping she would grasp him again with those wicked jaws of hers. “As you said. Your family proves to be quite persistent, Princess.” He remarked, a hint of mockery in his tone. Despite his amusement, Setekh made no move to intervene, allowing Kyanite's relative to tend to her needs. After all, whether by his hand or another's, he would soon hear her cries echo within the confines of the ship as her leg was attended to. Oh to hear, to hear her wilt, with a lilt!