in tenebris est veritas.
The droll tone in his voice does not go unnoticed, though perhaps the noise of a laugh does. His skepticism is defensible enough; what Chaele will never admit out loud is that what she has learned about prognostication is moreso a matter of hope than of truth, that the day her foretelling is more than an enigmatic guess is a day in the future. Whatever her limitations, the Abandoned cannot imagine following any other path.
“You were answered... so that you could become something else?” She summarizes, her cynicism much less hidden than his. She carries no ill will for the Attuned, but perhaps the flat notes in her voice best insinuate that she does not consider their talents any superior to true magic. “I imagine the god who did it considered it an improvement. Does it limit your magic in any way?”
She follows along in step with him, content to match his pace and watch his companion prance around them. It will only be later, when she is skinning her seventh snow hare in preparation of a cloak suitable for the snowy environs beyond, that she will realize how satisfying it has been-- to meander through warm caverns, to prattle about divinations and unicorns, to be in the company of someone practical and powerful. For now, she can only feel the bloody lesson in her arm and the weight of the carcass on her shoulder. With a fatigued sigh she notes, “The end of one thing is the beginning of another.”
Her chin lifts a little as a whiff of something catches her senses. Perhaps it is the gentle sting of a distant cold, the promise of hard stone turning to soft soil ahead. Or perhaps it is something else entirely, some danger that she must prepare to flee from or else be hurt in vain again. Chaele’s grip tightens on the scaly talons at her shoulder, anticipating anything.
“You were answered... so that you could become something else?” She summarizes, her cynicism much less hidden than his. She carries no ill will for the Attuned, but perhaps the flat notes in her voice best insinuate that she does not consider their talents any superior to true magic. “I imagine the god who did it considered it an improvement. Does it limit your magic in any way?”
She follows along in step with him, content to match his pace and watch his companion prance around them. It will only be later, when she is skinning her seventh snow hare in preparation of a cloak suitable for the snowy environs beyond, that she will realize how satisfying it has been-- to meander through warm caverns, to prattle about divinations and unicorns, to be in the company of someone practical and powerful. For now, she can only feel the bloody lesson in her arm and the weight of the carcass on her shoulder. With a fatigued sigh she notes, “The end of one thing is the beginning of another.”
Her chin lifts a little as a whiff of something catches her senses. Perhaps it is the gentle sting of a distant cold, the promise of hard stone turning to soft soil ahead. Or perhaps it is something else entirely, some danger that she must prepare to flee from or else be hurt in vain again. Chaele’s grip tightens on the scaly talons at her shoulder, anticipating anything.
