Paying My Respects

At the not-Fae - Jigano’s - mention of the god, and the fact that he’d actually trespassed through Ludo’s Wood in the past, I find myself still more surprised. Words dither on the tip of my stubborn tongue, brushing too eagerly against the back of my well clenched teeth: “You are Natural?” Contemplative silence withheld its crown, however, as he continued his answer: this one comes from the bubble as well. It doesn’t seem to count that my company looks very clean. His clothes are tidy, well-fitted and of quality fabric; the warm-toned skin beneath, seems washed, young and taught across fine bones; rather, not leathered by careless sun exposure or sullied as I’d imagine a ruffians to be. It hardly matters either, that his tongue articulates my language so remarkably well and the words he uses indicate an educated mind. I still feel unclean in his presence. Uncomfortable. The dim forest light tricks my briefly wandering eye into believing the tired wilt of wooden arms; or does it? Slowly this chin dips into a nod and the story he offers is accepted. A small quantity of tension is released from my torso, enough for my figure to sigh visibly, and I relax the painful grip my fingers have taken, around the old branch: he means no harm… to me. The Gryphon, who is still present but clearly distracted, next becomes my focus, my priority: “why do you keep her?” My brow furrows unhappily as I presume his guilt aloud, driving a hard glare in his direction should words alone fall short expressing my opinion. “Isuma.” Conditioned to assume the worst of these Outlanders, I am fast to judge: she is native, you are not. Back home, my family lives aside two beetles, giants of their genus; they are free to roam these woods, but return to aid us when they please. We pay them well for each service in food and necessary healing. We do not keep them. I await Jigano’s response.