in tenebris est veritas.
Chaele only watches Zamara’s struggle with the ration for a few moments before they can no longer bear it, averting their gaze to the forest beyond under the pretense of keeping watch. A noise in the underbrush alerts them to a larger animal in their midst, though likely not a predator given its careless tread. Their gaze returns to the lost girl as she speaks, meeting hers with grave intention.
“Then you must learn to survive here. It is not as difficult as it might seem, with the right guidance. You are lucky that this place is not so harsh in winter, but if I am to be your guide you must learn quickly and live humbly.” They pluck the plump maggot off of the ground where Zamara had discarded it, drawing it beneath her mask and swallowing it whole. “Your instincts will be a valuable asset, but I must guess that you have more than that to offer. What are your skills? What do you know about--”
The shaman pauses as the underbrush parts on their side of the river, a short distance down the bank behind Zamara. They raise a finger to the jagged nose of the skull mask, demanding silence as they rise to a crouch. A young hog has lowered its head toward the wishtide to take a drink. “Your new shoes,” Chaele whispers faintly, at the edge of perception, as they point a steady finger over the other woman’s slender shoulder. With the other hand they draw a hunting knife from their pack. “And our next meal. What will you do?”
“Then you must learn to survive here. It is not as difficult as it might seem, with the right guidance. You are lucky that this place is not so harsh in winter, but if I am to be your guide you must learn quickly and live humbly.” They pluck the plump maggot off of the ground where Zamara had discarded it, drawing it beneath her mask and swallowing it whole. “Your instincts will be a valuable asset, but I must guess that you have more than that to offer. What are your skills? What do you know about--”
The shaman pauses as the underbrush parts on their side of the river, a short distance down the bank behind Zamara. They raise a finger to the jagged nose of the skull mask, demanding silence as they rise to a crouch. A young hog has lowered its head toward the wishtide to take a drink. “Your new shoes,” Chaele whispers faintly, at the edge of perception, as they point a steady finger over the other woman’s slender shoulder. With the other hand they draw a hunting knife from their pack. “And our next meal. What will you do?”
