chaele
worship like a dog
Chaele sighs and turns left with a shrug, boots crunching in the packed snow as they try to ward off any nearby critters with the noise. The torch is kept far enough away from the wet, snow-heavy branches of the hedges around them, but it nonetheless oscillates back and forth, up and down, as they guide it in search of the precious herb. The shaman is not one to fill silence otherwise; they prefer it to idle conversation, and find it more effective in concentrating on the hazards around them.
At least the sky is clear, the moon high, and thoughts plenty.
Soon enough a dead end is reached, and they spin around to retrace their steps-- perhaps not as carefully as Maea might have liked. They get a brief glimpse at her downcast eyes then, her distant expression, before it might change in reaction to the flame. There is a scrutinizing pause as they pull the torch back and to the side, then step succinctly around the Ascended to take the lead once more.
“I have been thinking about your offer to transcribe my knowledge,” they report, if only to move their thoughts away from the discomfort of concern. “I want to make small guides... like leaflets, for surviving in the wild regions.”
At least the sky is clear, the moon high, and thoughts plenty.
Soon enough a dead end is reached, and they spin around to retrace their steps-- perhaps not as carefully as Maea might have liked. They get a brief glimpse at her downcast eyes then, her distant expression, before it might change in reaction to the flame. There is a scrutinizing pause as they pull the torch back and to the side, then step succinctly around the Ascended to take the lead once more.
“I have been thinking about your offer to transcribe my knowledge,” they report, if only to move their thoughts away from the discomfort of concern. “I want to make small guides... like leaflets, for surviving in the wild regions.”
at the shrine of my lies
