my ears can hear my mouth can speak my spirit talks my soul believes
His name rings in the back of their mind the way all demigods’ do, riding the memories of distant tales distorted by rumor and time. Their hind foot lowers onto its heel as he nears, allowing their other to sweep quietly backward and out of the radius of his reach. But as his posture lowers and his pupils dilate into something somewhat more human, Chaele’s grip loosens on their arms.
The quiet pause that follows is filled with skepticism. The best hint at the shaman’s masked expression is the gentle tension of their jaw, only visible because of the Flood’s lower angle. They shake their head and reply, “Is it a haven for refugees, or a middle ground for hostile parties? If peace is truly impossible, a sanctuary is futile. If it is possible, then I see no reason in crippling your charges.”
Recollections of Darkeye’s propositions cross Chaele’s mind as Sunjata’s spring-wetted fingers draw their gaze. The wild woman had objected to many of the former’s ideas, and they are bound to become a similar thorn for the latter. “Where will it be, anyway?” is the next in their tangle of questions, like so many plants crowding a narrow path.
The quiet pause that follows is filled with skepticism. The best hint at the shaman’s masked expression is the gentle tension of their jaw, only visible because of the Flood’s lower angle. They shake their head and reply, “Is it a haven for refugees, or a middle ground for hostile parties? If peace is truly impossible, a sanctuary is futile. If it is possible, then I see no reason in crippling your charges.”
Recollections of Darkeye’s propositions cross Chaele’s mind as Sunjata’s spring-wetted fingers draw their gaze. The wild woman had objected to many of the former’s ideas, and they are bound to become a similar thorn for the latter. “Where will it be, anyway?” is the next in their tangle of questions, like so many plants crowding a narrow path.
Base code by Odd • Art by Krakenkatz
