Waker responds, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Taivas need not have adept social skills to discern what has his focus, though, for the amalgation of shadow, flesh, and bone had taken much of her attention as well. Still, she offers up a small nod in his thanks, not quite sure how to take the compliment correctly. You see, the shaman thought anyone would have aided Waker similarly, and were it not for her teachings in the fields, she may not have been able to save him.
The stallion would have been better served by a fire wielder or skilled healer. Instead, he had to settle for her meager skillset and care.
Roscorro joins in the chorus of thanks, but Waker does not. The boy's voice is loud, like a thunderclap, compared to most at the gathering, filled with youthful confidence and determination. It draws forth a pale smile to her lips before she turns her attention to the god before them.
She thinks he looks unbalanced, right now, as if taken aback by the response received from the crowd. Taivas has no way of knowing about his formerly harsh dealings, and so she can only judge him based on this brief interaction. He seems abrupt, rough, but his heart appears to be in the right place. She can feel his desperation to save this world she had been forcibly brought into, and that desperation resonates within her own heart. The Fields had fallen to soldiers and war, her delicate culture usurped and used for violent purposes. If she had the chance to save the realm of her childhood, she would gladly throw away most everything else.
If she knew of Kisamoa's drastic actions, Taivas may not have even judged him for them.
With a scowl, the god's voice directs everyone to leave. The shaman bows her head slightly and turns from him, barely catching the small uttered 'thanks' as she does.
Looking back at Waker and then Roscorro, the painted girl attempts to catch their gaze for a brief moment. "Goodbye for now," she says to them both, even as her legs break into a faster gait and her wings unfold. She lifts off into the air without looking back for a reply from either.
The stallion would have been better served by a fire wielder or skilled healer. Instead, he had to settle for her meager skillset and care.
Roscorro joins in the chorus of thanks, but Waker does not. The boy's voice is loud, like a thunderclap, compared to most at the gathering, filled with youthful confidence and determination. It draws forth a pale smile to her lips before she turns her attention to the god before them.
She thinks he looks unbalanced, right now, as if taken aback by the response received from the crowd. Taivas has no way of knowing about his formerly harsh dealings, and so she can only judge him based on this brief interaction. He seems abrupt, rough, but his heart appears to be in the right place. She can feel his desperation to save this world she had been forcibly brought into, and that desperation resonates within her own heart. The Fields had fallen to soldiers and war, her delicate culture usurped and used for violent purposes. If she had the chance to save the realm of her childhood, she would gladly throw away most everything else.
If she knew of Kisamoa's drastic actions, Taivas may not have even judged him for them.
With a scowl, the god's voice directs everyone to leave. The shaman bows her head slightly and turns from him, barely catching the small uttered 'thanks' as she does.
Looking back at Waker and then Roscorro, the painted girl attempts to catch their gaze for a brief moment. "Goodbye for now," she says to them both, even as her legs break into a faster gait and her wings unfold. She lifts off into the air without looking back for a reply from either.
So seize the day 'Cause you have come so far
Watched a million frowns turn into smiles
Lost all track of time Felt the energy of a million stars
You'll feel love again after the rain
Watched a million frowns turn into smiles
Lost all track of time Felt the energy of a million stars
You'll feel love again after the rain
Taivas