It was rare for Diana to be this physically tired. It had been a long time since she had needed the full reaches of her power for anything, and in truth, she might not have needed it now. But the important thing was that the danger had passed, and both of them were well enough. “Good,” she said lightly, and she leaned on one hand as she used the other to reach out and touch his face, gently.
Diana was not infallible, and the arm she’d used was the same side she’d been cut on. A glancing blow, but a wound nonetheless, and Diana’s body would take a day or two to heal it. She hissed and withdrew her hand, pressing it instead to the wound. “I find myself quite glad these aren’t my clothes.” Diana huffed and got to her feet, but quite slowly, for her.
His mention of her title brought a smile to her face, but a rueful one. “My father’s joke, of sorts. Only a God can kill a God, in our world. And so he left Hippolyta with me, and an island to keep me ensconced in, until such time as I was needed to deal with my brother in his place.” She grinned now, and the reason for that came clear rather quickly. “I always thought it was a sword my mother showed me, when she spoke of the Godkiller. It was masterful, and I never noticed what she truly meant. More fool I. It would not have been so impressive without your help, though.”