Jigano grinned at hearing that Granger didn't agree with him. Theological differences - and disagreements - had spanned millennia of human history on his world, and here he was trying to apply his understanding of the gods to a world he barely lived in for a year. He was bound to get some things wrong, and to have people disagree with him. He couldn't prove that he was right in either case; it was all guesses and hypotheses from what he'd seen of the world so far, but perhaps others had seen different things, or interpreted them differently.
Either way, it had passed the time while they walked, and now Jigano joined Granger in crouching before the tree, his smile fading to solemn respect. He stayed back a little ways from the lad, letting him greet his parents' ghosts (even if their spirits were hopefully safe in Mort's embrace by now, long since gone to their reward in the afterlife). At being compared to an old dog the bard couldn't help but chuckle, though, nodding to the grave with a smile. "I've been called worse," he admitted cheerfully. "Nothing wrong with a good dog. I suppose I'll have to find a stream to rinse off in after this to get rid of the dirty part, though." Or a horse trough. Or, better yet, a bucket of hot water in front of the kitchen fire at the farm. The water outside was getting a bit chilly for bathing al fresco.
"You taught him well enough that he's survived this long," he said more gravely, speaking to the faint, fading outlines of the graves. "That's no small thing. But he's tough and smart and I think you'd be proud of him." He paused, then looked to Granger with kindness softening the edges of his eyes. "What names should I call them?" he asked gently.
Either way, it had passed the time while they walked, and now Jigano joined Granger in crouching before the tree, his smile fading to solemn respect. He stayed back a little ways from the lad, letting him greet his parents' ghosts (even if their spirits were hopefully safe in Mort's embrace by now, long since gone to their reward in the afterlife). At being compared to an old dog the bard couldn't help but chuckle, though, nodding to the grave with a smile. "I've been called worse," he admitted cheerfully. "Nothing wrong with a good dog. I suppose I'll have to find a stream to rinse off in after this to get rid of the dirty part, though." Or a horse trough. Or, better yet, a bucket of hot water in front of the kitchen fire at the farm. The water outside was getting a bit chilly for bathing al fresco.
"You taught him well enough that he's survived this long," he said more gravely, speaking to the faint, fading outlines of the graves. "That's no small thing. But he's tough and smart and I think you'd be proud of him." He paused, then looked to Granger with kindness softening the edges of his eyes. "What names should I call them?" he asked gently.
