[SE] Omens are for the weak

Maea

Waking from the dream
Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in

Dry twigs broke beneath slow footsteps. Despite the burdens dragging on her arms Maea made no hurry on her way through the woods. They were full of memories that seemed closer than usual, as if made tangible by the changing season, and she found herself half lost in thought. A dangerously distracted state of being, to be sure, when the world was awash with void taint and she couldn't easily reach her weapon.

Upon reaching the shrine, she found it already occupied. Casting a curious look at the woman, with the tail end of her monologue still hanging in the stillness, the salty-haired Ancient pursed her lips.

"I wouldn't take that tone with Ludo, if I were you. It has a peculiar sense of humor."

Approaching without much concern for the parishioner's anger, a lantern was set down near the roots of one tree, while an armful of ragdoll toys nestled more comfortably by the other. Finally a small pot filled with ash was placed by the altar itself. Fussing over the angle of the lantern and the positioning of the dolls until everything sat securely, a thin line nevertheless lingered on her brow by the time she stepped back.

"What are you so angry about?" Finally turning her full attention on the other, Maea was pleasantly surprised when she found her at eye level; not entirely commonplace, she appreciated the lack of strain in her neck that usually accompanied standing conversations.

The end is what you fear
The scent of embers lingers in the air