chaele
worship like a dog
The instinct to sympathize is damped by his own self-pity, futile like a bucket in a sinking boat. He is capable of more than he seems to be, something between the gentle noises of his sadness and the static smells of his power. What exactly that is, the wild woman is keen to discover.
“I am Chaele Omriwin. Shaman of the Four Winds.” As if in explanation, she retrieves a wooden box from her pack and opens it in her lap. Various herbal scents waft from it, and at his angle Nate may be able to see a collection of bound plants, stones, bones, and other miscellany within.
“You care about living, or you would not be alive.” In the absence of sympathy Chaele can only be intrigued, threading together his vaguenesses like so many beads on a bracelet. “You care about this place, or you would be able to leave. You care about attention, or you would not feel so broken by being ignored.”
She retrieves a bright red poppy flower and a cutting from a Labyrinth hedge, then turns toward Nate in consideration of his scalp. Reaching forward in a sudden attempt to pluck a hair from his head, she attempts to distract with a sort of question. “There has to be something else you care about.”
“I am Chaele Omriwin. Shaman of the Four Winds.” As if in explanation, she retrieves a wooden box from her pack and opens it in her lap. Various herbal scents waft from it, and at his angle Nate may be able to see a collection of bound plants, stones, bones, and other miscellany within.
“You care about living, or you would not be alive.” In the absence of sympathy Chaele can only be intrigued, threading together his vaguenesses like so many beads on a bracelet. “You care about this place, or you would be able to leave. You care about attention, or you would not feel so broken by being ignored.”
She retrieves a bright red poppy flower and a cutting from a Labyrinth hedge, then turns toward Nate in consideration of his scalp. Reaching forward in a sudden attempt to pluck a hair from his head, she attempts to distract with a sort of question. “There has to be something else you care about.”
at the shrine of my lies
