The rain was cool on my head. Soothing the chaffed ragged edges of where they had sawn the hair. Recognition for my father, so his spirit can rest. It itched and I was soaked. We had stopped on the crest of a hill over looking a wide plain and our next target. The men lusted for more war and why not, the reward had been good so far. I ran my hand across my rough scalp and pictured the girl I had taken. Fire in her blood as she fought.

Her room was beautiful etchings and drawings had covered the walls. She was creative and had sprung at me from god knows where. I smiled at her fierceness, an artist becoming a fighter. But I was a fighter with my own artistry. And I showed her all of it. Her body was beautiful by the time I had finished. Flesh was my favourite canvas and her blood had flooded the rushes on the floor.

It was then her man arrived. He burst in through the door. I remember his face so well. Beautiful and covered in blood, he was drenched from the torrent lashing down outside. Anger split into pure devestation as he saw her, and then returning as burning rage. It was that look that made me pause a moment to long. He launched at me and I realised then, he was one of the ‘Children of god’, giants they were called, at least 10 feet tall. His arms wrapped around me and there was nothing i could do.

But in that instant my father had appeared and he did not hesitate. His axe clove into the giants back. His grip loosed enough for me to breathe and then an arm was free and I was plunging my fingers into his eyes. My father's axe struck again and he dropped to his knees. I fell backwards and my knee, which had been twisted in his grip buckled. I landed messily on the remains of his women. All blood drained from his face and at that moment my dad raised his axe to end it all and swung.

I had never thought that these Sons of God were anything other than freaks, as evil and human and god forsaken as the rest of us. But the speed with which he spun then, rising up and catching the axe as it fell, wrenching it from my father's hands and twisting it up and back down, all in a heartbeat or less, was unlike anything mortal. He buried it down to my father's waist. Water and blood arced in a myriad of colours. But then he was not a god as he desperately tried to pull it out, as my sword cut his throat. His body flopped and twitched like a fish on land. We tried to burn the village, but in the rain nothing would light.

This village was much larger, but their river had already burst its banks and water had pooled together across the plain. This god damn rain was causing problems and this plain was too close to the lakes for my liking. It pounded down as it has done for near two moons. The first light touch of dawn crept over the opposite brow of the plain. We moved down towards the village. I did not hear it at first, but slowly a rumble grew, shaking the earth slowly but with ever increasing power. The village was empty. We took what we could find but that sound unnerved us. I stood watching the men curse and bicker. Then something made we look to the horizon.

It seemed then, like we were in a bowl, with the horizon edge running all around us. I realised our mistake in a flash. Have you ever pushed a bowl into water? There is a moment when the water seems to hover impossibly high around the edge, before suddenly it drops. We were too late. Surrounded by an enemy we could not fight. No pyres for us to send our spirits high. Some ran in terror. Others climbed to the roofs. I simply lay down and pictured her laid out, her blood flowing, maybe my greatest work. Beautiful. I smiled. The flood came.