Because where there is blame there is usually punishment, the raven answered the goddess soberly. Whether in wrapping generations of people in a barrier while their world dies around them, or in the withdrawing of favor. Not all punishment was corporal, after all, or blatantly overt.
Life naturally leads to death, he agreed, fighting the urge to shiver again, knowing he would puff out like a snowball bush in full bloom if he did. But... this isn't natural. That's why I came. And I didn't mean-- He bit back his protest, beak clicking a few times as he paused, uncertain how to explain when a goddess who could see inside his thoughts still didn't understand him. He hadn't been surprised at all that Amalia had been greeted so warmly - that was his point. He wasn't jealous or envious, no matter what darkness the goddess seemed to think of him. He had been grateful that he had been allowed to share in Amalia's joy. He still was, for his sister's happiness meant a great deal to him. He had meant only that he had never spoken with the goddess one-on-one before, knew of her only through the filter of others. How could he swear allegiance to someone he didn't know? It wouldn't be true allegiance if he did; he would be swearing to a shadow, a dream, not a truth.
How quick she was to judge him... but then, wasn't that what gods did? At least, the ones he had once known.
And she also denied her part in what had befallen the barrier, adamant in her purity, righteous in her innocence.
An uncomfortable sliver of his soul wondered if a mortal and a deity could really be so alike, or if that was as blasphemous a thought here as it had been back in the world from whence he came. Not home... not anymore. But that world had shaped him, and he would not deny it.
It would be better if I were unbiased, he admitted. If I could stand between and stay neutral, to try and help broker what peace I could. At least, to stand between the mortals caught betwixt Old Gods and new. But... But that was no longer truth for him, was it? And hadn't been, since Maea had come to him telling of the Voice's cruel visions. He might have frowned, had he worn a human shape, but as a raven he could only let out a soft croak, thoughtful and uncertain.
How... he asked, the thought striking him with an almost painful clarity. How is it that I... that others... if the Voice was the one to bring us to this world, how is it that some of us are Attuned? That we received the blessing of the Old Gods in spite of her interference in our lives? There was a connection he was missing... a seed planted seasons before, perhaps. Or was that, too, just another illusion?
Life naturally leads to death, he agreed, fighting the urge to shiver again, knowing he would puff out like a snowball bush in full bloom if he did. But... this isn't natural. That's why I came. And I didn't mean-- He bit back his protest, beak clicking a few times as he paused, uncertain how to explain when a goddess who could see inside his thoughts still didn't understand him. He hadn't been surprised at all that Amalia had been greeted so warmly - that was his point. He wasn't jealous or envious, no matter what darkness the goddess seemed to think of him. He had been grateful that he had been allowed to share in Amalia's joy. He still was, for his sister's happiness meant a great deal to him. He had meant only that he had never spoken with the goddess one-on-one before, knew of her only through the filter of others. How could he swear allegiance to someone he didn't know? It wouldn't be true allegiance if he did; he would be swearing to a shadow, a dream, not a truth.
How quick she was to judge him... but then, wasn't that what gods did? At least, the ones he had once known.
And she also denied her part in what had befallen the barrier, adamant in her purity, righteous in her innocence.
An uncomfortable sliver of his soul wondered if a mortal and a deity could really be so alike, or if that was as blasphemous a thought here as it had been back in the world from whence he came. Not home... not anymore. But that world had shaped him, and he would not deny it.
It would be better if I were unbiased, he admitted. If I could stand between and stay neutral, to try and help broker what peace I could. At least, to stand between the mortals caught betwixt Old Gods and new. But... But that was no longer truth for him, was it? And hadn't been, since Maea had come to him telling of the Voice's cruel visions. He might have frowned, had he worn a human shape, but as a raven he could only let out a soft croak, thoughtful and uncertain.
How... he asked, the thought striking him with an almost painful clarity. How is it that I... that others... if the Voice was the one to bring us to this world, how is it that some of us are Attuned? That we received the blessing of the Old Gods in spite of her interference in our lives? There was a connection he was missing... a seed planted seasons before, perhaps. Or was that, too, just another illusion?
