who we are and all that we're trying to be
Blessings were not inferior sacraments or rituals, as the Sword soon learned.
He’d never been tasked, much less asked, by a celestial being to do anything (except…likely cease to exist – and since that had already happened once…), momentarily overwhelmed by the directions, but not showing it. The stoic properties of his essence listened instead, taking in the notions one by one as they rang from stars and constellations: decomposed leaves, bones, fertile soil, no explanation in their arts – save for preservation? He might have asked, but then there were more notions, more ways to alleviate Amalia’s circumstances, and his mind collected, conducted those too: the Efas herb (from the labyrinth?), full moons amongst the oasis, crystal jars…
Before warnings. He took those too, wondered, pondered, thoughts eventually to give way over their meanings.
Clasping the ring back into his safekeeping, he nodded his assent, acceptance of the undertakings. “Thank you.” For a lot of things: no other words perhaps; because he was thankful for the opportunity to try.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
