Petrichor

As Otem watched the stallion's reaction to the sudden splitting of the orb, she decided she approved. He had been wary, but hadn't acted out, hadn't yelled or demanded more information than she could give him. His reaction hadn't forced any additional strain or stress on her part, and for that she was grateful. As he asked about Kisamoa, Otem's lips turned into an S shape as she tried to think of where to begin. The question seemed to loom over her, crowding her thoughts. In times like this Otem's youth truly showed, for in the face of something overwhelming, the girl didn't know where to begin. And what do you do when you don't know what to do? Ask your mother of course. Awkwardly, Otem used a wing to lift an oak-leaf charm from around her neck. She'd never actually needed its help before, it always sort of ... spoke up. In truth, she didn't know what the result would be, or if it would even answer at all. Can you describe Kisamoa to Rixen?" She asked the necklace, sounding both polite and slightly timid. For a moment nothing happened, and then a voice, crass and obnoxious filled the air. "Why? Can't you? What are you even good for!" The snide comment exploded into a peel of laughter, which left Otem gaping with embarrassment. Before Otem could excuse the necklace, or apologize for the interruption, it began speaking again. Although the voice was completely different: now it spoke with the calm, neutral academic tone of Otem's deceased mother. "There is much to the story of Kisamoa, though without more context I am not sure what parts are relevant. Let us start here: he once was some sort of God of this place, the Rift. He ventured into Helovia - our old homeland - and tried to insert himself there. He was not successful. He created a portal which forced presumably all of us through. It brought us here. Since then he seems to have recanted whatever megalomania overtook him and now desires to heal this place." Otem lost herself in the words and cadence of her mother. Isopia always had been pragmatic and wise, and in this situation her lack of sugar coating provided a good explanation. Or so she thought. "Does that make sense?" She asked almost nervously, as if Rixen's understanding was somehow a commentary on Otem's dead mother. "Oh, and I'm Otem. And this is Pandora." Otem nudged her ram-horned skull towards the melanistic owl that sat on her withers. otem I'm a cold day in august, I'm a stream too shallow. I'm a heart-shaped box with no letter inside.

^{Image Credits}