chaele
worship like a dog
Two heads swivel simultaneously in the direction of the noise, and perhaps more in the night’s eerie stillness. “I admit I know little about the Grounds themselves,” Chaele replies distractedly, head slanted upward. They listen for the scraping of branches or the tossing of ice, but no other indication of movement is revealed. Don’t listen, Maea had advised, and yet they cannot help but be curious.
The next fork they cross leads them less than coincidentally toward the noise, affirmed by a quick yelping that echoes through the frigid air.
No! No! No!
Chaele pretends to ignore it, trudging forward until it inevitably leads them toward a dead end. With a sigh they lift the torch up in a futile search for a gap or climbing branch, but eventually turn around again to go back the way they came. Their eyes remain on the path ahead, while their attention shifts back from the idle hunt. “But I would learn more. Tell me about the old guildmaster.”
The next fork they cross leads them less than coincidentally toward the noise, affirmed by a quick yelping that echoes through the frigid air.
No! No! No!
Chaele pretends to ignore it, trudging forward until it inevitably leads them toward a dead end. With a sigh they lift the torch up in a futile search for a gap or climbing branch, but eventually turn around again to go back the way they came. Their eyes remain on the path ahead, while their attention shifts back from the idle hunt. “But I would learn more. Tell me about the old guildmaster.”
at the shrine of my lies
