So, you know her? This goddess? The Voice?" she asked, trying to hold in all of what Amun was offering to her. The idea of a goddess who worked for the good of those she loved was interesting to Letha. She tried to remember what--if anything--she had on the deities of where she had come from. Flashes surged through her mind, bright purples and teals swirling. Lightning flashed, dark fog formed, and she remembered Ma's voice.
She moved on, pushing the memory (?) inside of a box not to be opened again.
For Letha the time did not seem to pass so fast, but there was evidence on the horizon of the coming daylight. "Does the Voice reside here?" She asked carefully, fingers playing with the side hem of her skirt. Always busy, her hands. It was something Letha didn't even notice about herself, at this point. She was always fiddling, touching, moving those fingers. It was from her parents, their natures and careers as crafters overwhelming their warriors' blood.
L e t h a
Where will I find peace other than in oblivion?
