He had initially planned to leave his offering at the underwater shrine where he had so often prayed before, but that shrine served all gods impartially and he wanted to honor Safrin directly. Though he couldn't ascend the stairs within the lighthouse he threaded the currents between the rocks at the base of the cliff below to find the place he had left an offering for the goddess once before with Maeve and Flora.
It wasn't laid directly upon the altar above, but perhaps it would still be accepted.
The moon hung high and full overhead, painting the sea in silver and frosting the rimed rocks with the illusion of ice. The cold waters didn't seem to bother the merman, but the light breeze off the beach was certainly chill with the lingering Deepfrost that had extended even into Longheat. Long, steely hair gleamed like a pale beacon in the surf that raced along the narrow strand at the base of the cliff though the night bleached the gold from his tattooed scars.
Hadama bowed his head over the polished silver clam shell the size of his hand that he had painstakingly cleaned and hinged and latched and turned into a container for his true offering: a shawl of precious golden sea silk with ends beaded with black pearls. He couldn't spin and weave the rare threads but he had spent a season harvesting the filaments from the clams that grew them and traded with one of the weavers who could turn the raw threads into one of the Arclight's rarest treasures. Laying it on the rock where the offerings for the Stargate had been set out, his voice rumbled out a quiet prayer as he turned his eyes to the stars above.
"Safrin. You have answered me, and I will answer You, if You call," he promised in his simple, forthright way.
It wasn't laid directly upon the altar above, but perhaps it would still be accepted.
The moon hung high and full overhead, painting the sea in silver and frosting the rimed rocks with the illusion of ice. The cold waters didn't seem to bother the merman, but the light breeze off the beach was certainly chill with the lingering Deepfrost that had extended even into Longheat. Long, steely hair gleamed like a pale beacon in the surf that raced along the narrow strand at the base of the cliff though the night bleached the gold from his tattooed scars.
Hadama bowed his head over the polished silver clam shell the size of his hand that he had painstakingly cleaned and hinged and latched and turned into a container for his true offering: a shawl of precious golden sea silk with ends beaded with black pearls. He couldn't spin and weave the rare threads but he had spent a season harvesting the filaments from the clams that grew them and traded with one of the weavers who could turn the raw threads into one of the Arclight's rarest treasures. Laying it on the rock where the offerings for the Stargate had been set out, his voice rumbled out a quiet prayer as he turned his eyes to the stars above.
"Safrin. You have answered me, and I will answer You, if You call," he promised in his simple, forthright way.
