Iskra
this heartwood was cut too damn deep
Iskra has been musing over all the offerings Melita always places around, seeming to gravitate to some shrine or another. It's quite the change from when they were children, but he imagines becoming a demi-god has a bit of that effect, whereas he's always found the source he can conjure to his own fingertips prayer enough. At least, until recently, when he's finally acknowledged maybe some heavenly help is needed, once in a while, and not the source of all his woes in life.
There's one god he's still not so familiar with, isn't even sure Melita bothers to offer much to this one at all, so it seems worth travelling to the realm the god oversees to find out a bit more about what's unfolding. Goose trails beside him, alert in a lazy sort of way, ears airplaning but pace lofty. The dog has been in higher spirits ever since the season broke into colder weather, and because they haven't been back to Torchline, which while it had its aspects of fun, Goose is definitely against the temperature range there.
Iskra stops before the rise of the temple, hands fisting into his jacket pockets. He's wearing a blue and green plaid shirt, suspenders visible beneath the open front of his dark brown coat that hangs low to his knees. He's got on jeans and boots, and as always an axe is tucked away along his belt, more out of habit than anything else. Goose sits beside him, an unimpressed yawn offered to the stones, but then a dog's not usually impressed by architecture or gods.
There's one god he's still not so familiar with, isn't even sure Melita bothers to offer much to this one at all, so it seems worth travelling to the realm the god oversees to find out a bit more about what's unfolding. Goose trails beside him, alert in a lazy sort of way, ears airplaning but pace lofty. The dog has been in higher spirits ever since the season broke into colder weather, and because they haven't been back to Torchline, which while it had its aspects of fun, Goose is definitely against the temperature range there.
Iskra stops before the rise of the temple, hands fisting into his jacket pockets. He's wearing a blue and green plaid shirt, suspenders visible beneath the open front of his dark brown coat that hangs low to his knees. He's got on jeans and boots, and as always an axe is tucked away along his belt, more out of habit than anything else. Goose sits beside him, an unimpressed yawn offered to the stones, but then a dog's not usually impressed by architecture or gods.
I can't see the wood for the trees
