in tenebris est veritas.
Perhaps they belong less, since they insist on wearing a long cloak that covers all but the arm that holds the dripping rat away from it. It is surely uncomfortable, but perhaps also ceremonial, like the mask that gathers sweat beneath its tight-fitted straps. Their shoulders roll in a lopsided shrug as Talyson voices his speculations.
"That depends entirely on your definition of the word," they reply evenly, though their hidden mouth is stretched into the shape of amusement.
Then their head tilts upward and, though it is perhaps futile to attempt to read the stars through the shadowed canopy, they seem to decide on a direction. They lower their gaze to the root-knotted ground and begin to abruptly walk in the same direction, continuing in the assumption that the man and dragonling will follow. The large rat drips a trail behind them as they clarify over their shoulder, "I have no cult leader to answer to. I am but a lonely shaman. Are you a cultist?"
"That depends entirely on your definition of the word," they reply evenly, though their hidden mouth is stretched into the shape of amusement.
Then their head tilts upward and, though it is perhaps futile to attempt to read the stars through the shadowed canopy, they seem to decide on a direction. They lower their gaze to the root-knotted ground and begin to abruptly walk in the same direction, continuing in the assumption that the man and dragonling will follow. The large rat drips a trail behind them as they clarify over their shoulder, "I have no cult leader to answer to. I am but a lonely shaman. Are you a cultist?"
