God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn
Seeking an answer to why they were born
Bastien waited, counting ten seconds under his breath. Then another ten and another, and enough that it was clear the Gods weren't listening. Either they were busy, they didn't care, or (he found this unlikely, but the thought still came to mind) they were reticent to relay bad news.
When it was obvious he was not going to receive a response, he felt indescribably angry. These Gods had allowed this week of torment to happen and yet could not even spare a moment to tell a man if his wife had lived? He raised a hand, balled into a fist, almost brought it down upon the shrine --
-- but it stayed midair until he brought it down slowly and stood. Angering the Gods would only worsen the situation and he could not afford to be less than his best if Rexanna were hurt.
When it was obvious he was not going to receive a response, he felt indescribably angry. These Gods had allowed this week of torment to happen and yet could not even spare a moment to tell a man if his wife had lived? He raised a hand, balled into a fist, almost brought it down upon the shrine --
-- but it stayed midair until he brought it down slowly and stood. Angering the Gods would only worsen the situation and he could not afford to be less than his best if Rexanna were hurt.
Winds of misfortune have blown them about
You made the outcasts, don't cast them out
BASTIEN
