Nor did I speak of punishments that might come from you alone. Not her nor Ludo nor Frey, in truth. He had spoken of 'you' in the plural, meaning the gods beyond her, those not currently present; but in his thoughts, as in his next sentence, he had grouped Safrin in with those trapped in the barrier, those who might be punished. He could not tell if she chose to misunderstand him deliberately, or if there was something else going on, some interference... or if he simply mattered so little - Outlander, outsider, always that, no matter where he went.
He bowed his head, knowing now, too, that he had no words to move her. And yet... she hadn't created him, by her own admission. Even if she was comparing the humans - as he was now, he supposed - to a disease. Wasn't that why he wasn't worthy? He had not been born here, created by these gods. There was a certain bitter irony there. Human enough to bear the sins of the Naturals who had been trapped within the barrier, but too Outlander to be forgiven... at least not by Safrin.
But...? But his best intentions tasted like ashes in his mouth, his proud stance faltered to a weary crouch, wings and tail drooping. As she spoke he knew that the Old Gods had not touched him as he came through the portal, finding something in him worth their attention, and so that hope died as well. He did not trust the Voice, could not support her or stay aloof any longer, but the Old Gods did not need the allegiance of one such as him, human and outlander, one who had failed to stop the fall of the Barrier, one who had caused calamity in his ignorance upon the Greatwood he had been learning to love, even if he would never be but a visitor there.
He could feel himself breaking beneath it all; the weight of the blight, the anger of the Fae, the pressure of Zariah's tyranny, his failure to protect his friends, his inability to find the words to sway the goddess. He was quietly grateful that birds could not cry, that their beaks were not made for expressiveness, so he remained at least outwardly impassive and stoic.
I cannot undo what has been done, or turn back time to make it so it never happened, he whispered at last. I am truly sorry that we failed you... failed you all. Is there nothing we can do - I can do - to ameliorate the damage? Or were they naught but a particularly troublesome disease, as Safrin had called them? Capable only of destruction on this world so far from what he knew, and the gods he had once protected.
He bowed his head, knowing now, too, that he had no words to move her. And yet... she hadn't created him, by her own admission. Even if she was comparing the humans - as he was now, he supposed - to a disease. Wasn't that why he wasn't worthy? He had not been born here, created by these gods. There was a certain bitter irony there. Human enough to bear the sins of the Naturals who had been trapped within the barrier, but too Outlander to be forgiven... at least not by Safrin.
But...? But his best intentions tasted like ashes in his mouth, his proud stance faltered to a weary crouch, wings and tail drooping. As she spoke he knew that the Old Gods had not touched him as he came through the portal, finding something in him worth their attention, and so that hope died as well. He did not trust the Voice, could not support her or stay aloof any longer, but the Old Gods did not need the allegiance of one such as him, human and outlander, one who had failed to stop the fall of the Barrier, one who had caused calamity in his ignorance upon the Greatwood he had been learning to love, even if he would never be but a visitor there.
He could feel himself breaking beneath it all; the weight of the blight, the anger of the Fae, the pressure of Zariah's tyranny, his failure to protect his friends, his inability to find the words to sway the goddess. He was quietly grateful that birds could not cry, that their beaks were not made for expressiveness, so he remained at least outwardly impassive and stoic.
I cannot undo what has been done, or turn back time to make it so it never happened, he whispered at last. I am truly sorry that we failed you... failed you all. Is there nothing we can do - I can do - to ameliorate the damage? Or were they naught but a particularly troublesome disease, as Safrin had called them? Capable only of destruction on this world so far from what he knew, and the gods he had once protected.
