razed to ash and bone

Ludo seems to quiver in the trees at her accusations, seems to swell and grow in the face of Nephele's vitriol, against her anger and her hate. She might notice this, how the spaces between the trees blot out, a void in the forest, and the god stares down at her from above. "At last," Ludo whispers, and it seems to seep down through the branches towards her, wisps of raggedy promise, of finally, of where have you been. "Do you speak true, sweetling?" it asks, wending its way about her, still too large and too all-encompassing to get a good feel for, a good hold on. "When your rage is spent and your nights are long and lonely. When you are old and you have a family, when your children laugh and the trees blossom sweetly, will you still hate the Ascended? Will you still wage your war?" How deep, it asks, does it go? LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own