He could have teleported straight into the protection and comfort of the Citadel, it was true. But Hadama had a soft spot in his heart for the shrine on the shore of the Sea of Glass, perhaps his favorite outside of Torchline. The fragile ice bubbles appealed to him, as did the salten water of the inland sea, still half-frozen in Longheat. He stepped through moonlight, from pale sand to paler snow, and paused to take in the cold air and bright stars overhead. It was not the season for the auroras, but the display overhead was still breathtaking.
After several long minutes he turned his attention to the shrine, kneeling to show his respect for the deities it served and to make it easier for him to clean, brushing dust and snow from its surface. He placed candles at each of its corners: gold for Vi, silver for Mort, and green for Rae, with a pale blue candle at the last corner to honor the Eirachi. He lit each of them with reverence and then placed a fifth candle in the center, simple undyed beeswax. And then he bowed his head and sank into prayer. He was not heedless of the cold but he endured it, clad in his leather trousers stitched with silver stars and heavy brown jacket, his steely hair loose down his back to keep his neck and ears warm.
Open!
After several long minutes he turned his attention to the shrine, kneeling to show his respect for the deities it served and to make it easier for him to clean, brushing dust and snow from its surface. He placed candles at each of its corners: gold for Vi, silver for Mort, and green for Rae, with a pale blue candle at the last corner to honor the Eirachi. He lit each of them with reverence and then placed a fifth candle in the center, simple undyed beeswax. And then he bowed his head and sank into prayer. He was not heedless of the cold but he endured it, clad in his leather trousers stitched with silver stars and heavy brown jacket, his steely hair loose down his back to keep his neck and ears warm.
Open!
