in tenebris est veritas.
She hesitates to answer his final question, realizing that she could not predict how he might feel about her answer. Hadama has been open in speaking about mundane magic, but his attachment to Stormbreak gives her pause. “Water and life,” she repeats in the meantime, dripping hot wax over the crab legs to attach them to the shells. Only when that task is complete does she set the candle back in place and meet his eye.
“I am what they call Abandoned.” Chaele holds Hadama’s gaze for a moment, searching it for some nuance of opinion in the edges of his expression. When her eyes avert, she notes the little generosity that he offers by holding what he can of the encroaching waters. Her gratitude goes unsaid, if only because she is not accustomed to giving it.
Still her voice warms as she continues, “My mentor said conflicting associations combat each other, weakening the symbolic meaning-- and therefore the power-- of the item. She said that our different cultures, our… dissonance, of understanding has diminished the magic in the world.” She has begun to tie the torn seagrass stems back together, forming two long ropes about the length of her forearm. “But I like to think it simply gives the items nuance. So that when they are combined with others, the most harmonious intention is harnessed.”
The candle flame flickers in futile defiance of its continued handling, as the shaman uses melted wax to seal each knot in the line of seagrass. The antlers on her mask sway as she looks between her project and her latest acquaintance. “What are your associations with the shell, and the crab?”
“I am what they call Abandoned.” Chaele holds Hadama’s gaze for a moment, searching it for some nuance of opinion in the edges of his expression. When her eyes avert, she notes the little generosity that he offers by holding what he can of the encroaching waters. Her gratitude goes unsaid, if only because she is not accustomed to giving it.
Still her voice warms as she continues, “My mentor said conflicting associations combat each other, weakening the symbolic meaning-- and therefore the power-- of the item. She said that our different cultures, our… dissonance, of understanding has diminished the magic in the world.” She has begun to tie the torn seagrass stems back together, forming two long ropes about the length of her forearm. “But I like to think it simply gives the items nuance. So that when they are combined with others, the most harmonious intention is harnessed.”
The candle flame flickers in futile defiance of its continued handling, as the shaman uses melted wax to seal each knot in the line of seagrass. The antlers on her mask sway as she looks between her project and her latest acquaintance. “What are your associations with the shell, and the crab?”
