[say]"I have little experience with such maternal overtures,"[/say] she admits plainly, clearly pondering the information with no real regard for the strange gravity of her own words. [say]"But gifts, yes. It is only appropriate. We have always worshiped in that way."[/say] Though it seems many others in Caido willfully forget the Fae are an ancient race. Despite not having met Safrin, Nephele at least was conditioned to know the basics should she ever encounter a deity. It had simply only been a few years since the barrier fell and even gave her the opportunity in the first place.
Maeve's nerves make her appear weak, which is not precisely an insult - merely evidence of her innocence. To Nephele, the woman is hardly a woman at all, more child than adult. It softens the blow of her words a little when they come. [say]"She nearly killed the Mathair, the goddess of our forest. The Voice's Ascended killed many Fae warriors who tried to defend her, and even now we search for her to bring her home. Yet they were never brought to justice."[/say] The next handful of silt is roughly shaken through the sifter, anger pouring through the motions and making them stilted and rushed. [say]"They constructed their portal in our woods, without a care for how they tainted the forest, allowing intruders to pour through at every opportunity. We have been the favored victims of their poison for too long."[/say] Scowling, she stands and plucks the last precious stone from the sifter, running a damp hand over her face to try and cool the bubbling fury inside her.
Maeve's nerves make her appear weak, which is not precisely an insult - merely evidence of her innocence. To Nephele, the woman is hardly a woman at all, more child than adult. It softens the blow of her words a little when they come. [say]"She nearly killed the Mathair, the goddess of our forest. The Voice's Ascended killed many Fae warriors who tried to defend her, and even now we search for her to bring her home. Yet they were never brought to justice."[/say] The next handful of silt is roughly shaken through the sifter, anger pouring through the motions and making them stilted and rushed. [say]"They constructed their portal in our woods, without a care for how they tainted the forest, allowing intruders to pour through at every opportunity. We have been the favored victims of their poison for too long."[/say] Scowling, she stands and plucks the last precious stone from the sifter, running a damp hand over her face to try and cool the bubbling fury inside her.
