where'er the goddess turns her melancholy gaze, Man his loathsomeness displays
Anju is not a regular attendant of church, rarely steps through the Temple doors when daylight still lingers. She is a woman of faith, but she practices in a world of her own, wherever she can avoid other humans and their convoluted ways. Socialization is far from a skill she has in her arsenal.
Unfortunately today she is on a mission, one that had warranted returning to Stormbreak for supplies and, well. This.
This being books, the few they have. Stormbreak has libraries, but those cater to the advancements the modern land prioritize, the education and rounding of their youth. Information that is not relevant to the mission Ludo has set before her.
Riya curls like a content, lazy cat on one of the pews, tail draping off the side and trailing on the ground as the dragon dozes lightly. It’s the best for all involved; if Riya is to be in the temple at all, Anju would rather she be asleep instead of causing a ruckus, as is her natural state.
Anju gives a frustrated exhale when the tome in her hand fails to do anything but decry the Ascended. It’s not as if she doesn’t agree, but it’s impassioned, not factual or even analytical. Not what she’s seeking. Shutting the cover a little too hard and wincing at the echo, Anju slips the tome back onto the shelf and gives a frazzled overview of the shelf once more.
Unfortunately today she is on a mission, one that had warranted returning to Stormbreak for supplies and, well. This.
This being books, the few they have. Stormbreak has libraries, but those cater to the advancements the modern land prioritize, the education and rounding of their youth. Information that is not relevant to the mission Ludo has set before her.
Riya curls like a content, lazy cat on one of the pews, tail draping off the side and trailing on the ground as the dragon dozes lightly. It’s the best for all involved; if Riya is to be in the temple at all, Anju would rather she be asleep instead of causing a ruckus, as is her natural state.
Anju gives a frustrated exhale when the tome in her hand fails to do anything but decry the Ascended. It’s not as if she doesn’t agree, but it’s impassioned, not factual or even analytical. Not what she’s seeking. Shutting the cover a little too hard and wincing at the echo, Anju slips the tome back onto the shelf and gives a frazzled overview of the shelf once more.
ANJU
