in tenebris est veritas.
Chaele looks for the named constellation, but even if it were pointed out to them they might not see it. The task becomes tedious, their neck aching beneath the weight of their mask and their own patience tested by the impenetrable calm of the woman and her dragon. The shaman themself cannot quite understand the extent of their own envy for Maeve’s serenity, her companionship, her certainty.
The stag skull turns away from the stars and the freezing waters to twist behind them and contemplate the world beyond. This has been a suitable diversion, but the night will only grow colder. “I should be headed home,” Chaele mentions, standing. Truthfully there is no home except for a small, secluded cave and a cold campfire circle. It occurs to them to invite Maeve, but the wildwoman is not accustomed to offering aid when it is not requested. Instead they simply suggest, “Perhaps you should too. The coldest hours are yet to come.”
The stag skull turns away from the stars and the freezing waters to twist behind them and contemplate the world beyond. This has been a suitable diversion, but the night will only grow colder. “I should be headed home,” Chaele mentions, standing. Truthfully there is no home except for a small, secluded cave and a cold campfire circle. It occurs to them to invite Maeve, but the wildwoman is not accustomed to offering aid when it is not requested. Instead they simply suggest, “Perhaps you should too. The coldest hours are yet to come.”
