He took note of the bristling of Ashetta’s fur at the mention of the Voice’s possible machinations, and thought her discomfort wise. It’s only speculation, he cautioned. A possibility, nothing more than that without proof that is probably impossible to get now. But… I agree. Though I have friends among the Ascended, I do not trust their goddess. It was an admission that carried heavy weight with it, a sense of a tipping point being reached soon, and choices that would have to be made.
Mort, despite being the god of Death, was an easier topic for them both. Given how Safrin had described him, Jigano wasn’t surprised to see the assas—no, to see Ashetta relax as she fell back into memory. He tilted his head, not interrupting as she switched from recollection to proper tale, curious and respectful of both the subject matter and the story about to unfold. A professional teller of tales himself, he could hardly ruin someone else’s story, especially when he had asked for it! And besides, it proved a welcome distraction from his own guilt.
He had seen Mort in Safrin’s vision, but it was still intriguing to hear Ashetta describe him. Not simply his appearance, but his bearing and demeanor as well. She had given up the gift that most people saw as a blessing, but that the wise knew for a curse, without a second thought to save someone she loved. Although… he wondered, briefly, what she would do in the future if it was Kalt who died. She was young, he decided, impulsive and not used to thinking of consequences when she had never planned on living long enough to face them. And perhaps she would be lucky, and such a decision would never need to be made. What use saving for a rainy day if it never rained?
The bard had not expected the tale to continue, to lay out the process by which her immortality had been taken away, and he found himself fascinated, almost wincing in sympathy before he caught himself with the memory of Rory’s tears. She had endured much, this wolf, but she had done much, too, to hurt so many people. And in the end, she had been accepted by the gods of this world, in spite of all her sins and flaws, in spite of all her strength and pride.
He felt his feathers starting to fluff out, prickling as his skin crawled uncomfortably beneath them, and he forced himself to slick them back down, turning his head to preen his wings in a decidedly avian mannerism. That… would be welcome, he said cautiously, testing the words to see if they were true, and not finding an answer past the unexpected surge of envy that shadowed his heart. It was a petty emotion, one he was ashamed of, but he could not entirely deny it in that moment. I haven’t been to the Atheneum in a while, and I don’t know when I’ll be back but… I should return there, when this business of Queens and proclamations has passed. He walked more openly now, but until he knew whether there was still a warrant for his arrest he didn’t intend to make it easy for any Launceleyn to lay hands on him until he was good and ready on his own terms.
Mort, despite being the god of Death, was an easier topic for them both. Given how Safrin had described him, Jigano wasn’t surprised to see the assas—no, to see Ashetta relax as she fell back into memory. He tilted his head, not interrupting as she switched from recollection to proper tale, curious and respectful of both the subject matter and the story about to unfold. A professional teller of tales himself, he could hardly ruin someone else’s story, especially when he had asked for it! And besides, it proved a welcome distraction from his own guilt.
He had seen Mort in Safrin’s vision, but it was still intriguing to hear Ashetta describe him. Not simply his appearance, but his bearing and demeanor as well. She had given up the gift that most people saw as a blessing, but that the wise knew for a curse, without a second thought to save someone she loved. Although… he wondered, briefly, what she would do in the future if it was Kalt who died. She was young, he decided, impulsive and not used to thinking of consequences when she had never planned on living long enough to face them. And perhaps she would be lucky, and such a decision would never need to be made. What use saving for a rainy day if it never rained?
The bard had not expected the tale to continue, to lay out the process by which her immortality had been taken away, and he found himself fascinated, almost wincing in sympathy before he caught himself with the memory of Rory’s tears. She had endured much, this wolf, but she had done much, too, to hurt so many people. And in the end, she had been accepted by the gods of this world, in spite of all her sins and flaws, in spite of all her strength and pride.
He felt his feathers starting to fluff out, prickling as his skin crawled uncomfortably beneath them, and he forced himself to slick them back down, turning his head to preen his wings in a decidedly avian mannerism. That… would be welcome, he said cautiously, testing the words to see if they were true, and not finding an answer past the unexpected surge of envy that shadowed his heart. It was a petty emotion, one he was ashamed of, but he could not entirely deny it in that moment. I haven’t been to the Atheneum in a while, and I don’t know when I’ll be back but… I should return there, when this business of Queens and proclamations has passed. He walked more openly now, but until he knew whether there was still a warrant for his arrest he didn’t intend to make it easy for any Launceleyn to lay hands on him until he was good and ready on his own terms.
