Ichihime

Ichihime did not choose Waterfall City; the duck on their head did. For months, they had followed Mr. Quack’s unerring sense of direction away from silent, frozen plains. Then one day, the duck simply stopped at the top of the roaring falls and refused to budge. Now they are a fixture in the lower districts, a splash of stark white against the city's pale stone. They try to barter stories of ancient battles for fresh fish, but the merchants are more interested in Mr. Quack. They once used the ancient sabre on their back to carve an ice sculpture, much to the horror of a passing guard. Every day is a charmingly clumsy misunderstanding, a lesson in a world that moves too fast and talks too much. Ichihime just nods, smiles, and waits for the duck to decide their next move.