CHULANE
I believe that dreams are sacred
'Normally', offerings for gods wasn't something Chuy would ever partake in. From a world where such offerings historically involved human sacrifice… he just couldn't give the old religions of Earth the time of day.
But Chuy was living a new normal now. A normal filled with grief and sorrow, loss and despair, where the world kept turning and he just tried to keep up. Where gods were real and he could meet them, interact and see the change they provoked wherever they touched.
He didn't know what to bring for an offering. Didn't know what to do, how to make an offering. Or even when - could the herald receive the offering if it was meant to be made under her stars when the stars barely shone during a Halo evening?
The great beast walked, antlers decorated with moss - it was the best this form could manage, and the Chief hoped that it was more the thought of an offering that counted than the actual offering. But what would he know? Mist coiled in the air before his nostrils.
He wandered, to nowhere in particular, simply growing used to this form and wanting to test its endurance over distance. Then there was fire, and thoughts of the offering dissolved.
'Hey, I'm the moose here,' he called out, picking up a few of Loren's words - like being on the edge of the range of a radio transmission, he could just make it out, but he moved swiftly into range to make his own greeting. Internally, he sighed - both of them must have slipped past the guards at the gates (easy when one had access to various shifts, or intimidating magic).
Why is it always fire? he couldn't help but think, as he observed the great tower of flames rise up from the man. 'Tell me about Safrin,' he reached out across the bond to both of the men, genuine curiosity and awe evident, for now - the concern, the quiet urgency to get them back to safety in the Citadel, all the rest, was kept to himself.
But Chuy was living a new normal now. A normal filled with grief and sorrow, loss and despair, where the world kept turning and he just tried to keep up. Where gods were real and he could meet them, interact and see the change they provoked wherever they touched.
He didn't know what to bring for an offering. Didn't know what to do, how to make an offering. Or even when - could the herald receive the offering if it was meant to be made under her stars when the stars barely shone during a Halo evening?
The great beast walked, antlers decorated with moss - it was the best this form could manage, and the Chief hoped that it was more the thought of an offering that counted than the actual offering. But what would he know? Mist coiled in the air before his nostrils.
He wandered, to nowhere in particular, simply growing used to this form and wanting to test its endurance over distance. Then there was fire, and thoughts of the offering dissolved.
'Hey, I'm the moose here,' he called out, picking up a few of Loren's words - like being on the edge of the range of a radio transmission, he could just make it out, but he moved swiftly into range to make his own greeting. Internally, he sighed - both of them must have slipped past the guards at the gates (easy when one had access to various shifts, or intimidating magic).
Why is it always fire? he couldn't help but think, as he observed the great tower of flames rise up from the man. 'Tell me about Safrin,' he reached out across the bond to both of the men, genuine curiosity and awe evident, for now - the concern, the quiet urgency to get them back to safety in the Citadel, all the rest, was kept to himself.
Take my darkest fears and play them
