ꙮ Nothing quite so formal as all that, really. Salme’d asked a Yazhn at the Temple if Ravhi was busy, and he was, for another bell, and songs led in the hall, and then people filter out from that, mostly in groups or pairs, chattering to one another, a number of them nodding politely and waving to Salme or wishing her shade and comfort as they pass by.
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← Active ScenesAn Audience With The Yazhn of Yazhns
#saint
#yazhn ravhi
is glad, at least, that her riding the hippalectria through the city hasn’t caused too much undue distress. She nods and waves politely herself, taking her time to meander towards the hall.
does, eventually, poke her head inside and look for Ravhi.
is kneeling in front of a fragment of a statue, head bowed, singing something very softly under his breath; when he hears Salme’s footsteps echo, his song slowly winds to a close, and just as slowly he gets up, and by the time Salme’s reached him, he’s facing towards her, and bows. “It is good to see you again.”
curtsies back, and then smiles. “Is it? Or do you have to say that?”
blinks his nictitating membranes, faintly amused. “I am not in the habit of saying things which I do not mean.”
tilts her head, considering. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” She reaches down and brushes her fingers over the leather of the satchel looped over her shoulder. “May I have some of your time? I’d like to talk to you in private. Ideally somewhere comfortable.”
nods, briefly - visibly doing some brief mental math to make sure he’s not needed anywhere in the next however long that another Yazhn can’t trivially cover if they need to - and then lets out a little puff of breath from his nose. “Follow me?” And he leads her out of the song-hall through the door into the sacristy – not there, it’s private, but it – no, out that door and down some hallways with a well-practiced path, into a room decorated with red-and-gold tapestries, couches around a central table, and an alcove off to the side. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like coffee?”
considers, and says, “sure.” She doesn’t quite have the taste for it, but having a warm beverage to hold would be nice. She examines the tapestries for a moment before settling, running her hands over them. “Are the Vehru the ones who weave, or is it the Gohrn?”
goes over to the alcove, then, and putters around, a bit; there’s a sudden quick burst of burning gnosis, and some kind of complicated ritual involving a little metal pot pressed into very hot sand repeatedly. You get the sense that the ritual itself relaxes him. “Mostly the Vehru, although- that large one and the rug underfoot are of human make. A gift from a friend.”
goes over and examines the large tapestry. “It’s beautiful. And must have been time-intensive. I’m still working on my ability to weave on a complex loom, but I was raised by a weaver who did this kind of work. It could take years.”
takes one more moment to examine the tapestry, before going over and taking a seat. She pulls out what appear to be some amount of pages pressed between two thick boards and wrapped in silk, but otherwise patiently waits for Ravhi to seat himself.
pads over, quietly, with two small cups of intriguingly-spiced coffee, and sets one down in front of Salme with a quiet solemnity before sitting across from her. “Indeed it did. She… wanted something for me to remember her by, until we woke in the God’s day.” He looks up at it, smiles slightly- traces the lines of it, with his eyes, like he’s done a million times, and then his eyes fall to the pages pressed between the boards, and he leans forward, slightly.
: “Ah. Before I show you that I suppose I had a question I’d like answered. It’s both practical in this moment but also it’s something I, myself, have been struggling with philosophically.” She puts a hand on top of the bundle. “Let’s say there’s a piece of information. It might be useful to you, it might not. Knowing it will probably hurt you—it might hurt you in ways you’ve never been hurt before. Not knowing it is unlikely to affect you. Would you choose to know?”
looks at Salme for a few moments, and then a few moments more, and he takes a sip of his coffee. Softly: “You have brought me a perverse version of the Jar Game, far-wanderer.” He sounds like he’s thinking it through, at length, not angry. “When you say not knowing is unlikely to affect me, how likely do you mean? And on what principles do you make the claim?” He tilts his head to the side.
stops, and looks at the bundle on the table, and then looks at Ravhi. “I fucked this up,” she says, a bit of a laugh in her voice. “I meant to ask hypothetically, but I immediately made this non-hypothetical, didn’t I? I just had to have the drama of setting these on the table.” She huffs out a breath. “That’s the problem I keep running into. I believe very strongly that people should be able to consent to truths that might reshape their worldview before being told them, but it’s almost impossible to even ask, right?”
gives Salme an amiable look. “My answer would have been the same, I think, regardless.” Another sip of coffee, and then an appreciative glance. “But I deeply value that belief of yours. I can see why Wolf sees both shade and a light to guide by in you. It is a very hard thing.” Another pause. “And a question I have had occasion to ask, myself, from time to time. Can you, truly, say that you ever -know- that ignorance of a truth could not, at some point, do harm? One can be more certain, or less certain, and have reason for one’s certainty. That is the sum of it.”
smiles a bit at the compliment, and then grows more serious. “I don’t know. Here, I’m especially unsure. It relates to your faith, and I don’t want to disrespect your beliefs. It also relates to the reality of your world and I suspect …” she tilts her head at him. “I suspect you’d say you’d want to know any bit of information to do with that.”
takes her hand off the silk-wrapped bundle. “These are images of the sun in your sky. They were not what I expected them to be. I don’t know if you’ll find them alarming or reassuring. I think they have the potential to be either.”
tilts his head to the side, again. “Ignorance concerning my God, my people, and my charge to watch over them could only, ever, harm me.” He leans forward, slightly. “And truth cannot harm what is already true.” And then she mentions what they -are-, and an eye-ridge goes up, impressed. “…I should like to know how you accomplished this, if you’re able to share. There are– there was a Yazhn of Yazhn who tried, once. He did not succeed. More importantly– yes. I would very much like to see them.”
unwraps them, and as she does, she talks. “It was my friend—well, the Scorpion Queen, who rules the Beast’s, idea. She put me in touch with someone who gave me basic instructions, and I asked the Awoken for help and he truly outdid himself. Multiple gnosis-coated lenses and a very clever contraption to vent heat.” She spreads the images on the table before him.
looks like he’s curious about the contraption, but then she spreads the pictures, and they take his breath away. He reaches out to run his fingertips over the slight texture of the ink on the pages– recognising the Zvahr’s own light-paper– he commits the image to memory. “(What it asks of us it asks in love, and what it takes it does not take lightly.)” A pause. “I– this is a tremendous gift, and I would– I would immediately ask another, of you. If the process would allow for a copy to be made, of just one of these. I understand your hesitation to share these with me, but– to see the Sacrifice with my own eyes. To live and Work in such a time. I… do not know what to say other than that I am in your debt.”
: “You may have as many copies as you like. It’s your world, not mine.” She considers him for a minute. “I thought seeing that your sun was a dead thing might be upsetting, but you seem to find it to be the opposite.” It’s a question, though she doesn’t phrase it like one.
looks up, curiously. “You look at these pictures and see a ‘dead thing’. I look at these pictures, and see the God’s Sacrifice, manifest. A holy mystery, made– both less and more a mystery in a single breath. I see– something which, having been broken utterly, still shines.” He closes his nictitating membranes, fully, for a moment. “We know the -word- ‘decay’. The way the call of a duduk attenuates, if you’re far enough away, for example, that is a decay. But it means much more to you and yours, does it not?”
: “I won’t speak for anyone other than myself, but yes. It means much more to me.”
reaches out, again, to brush his fingertips over the surface of the image. “It is not strange to me, it does not conflict with my faith, that our sun, too, would be at its Rest.” Softly, then: “What were you, when you were yet awake? Would that we could hold Festival and ask.”
: “It isn’t, though. At rest. It’s dead but also not-dead. Caught. Reliving its own moment of destruction again and again.” She says it before she even really means to, and closes her eyes.
is quiet for a moment, and then reaches out, again, to touch the picture. “How do you know this?”
keeps her eyes closed. “I could tell, from the images. This is something in movement, still. But.” She breathes, in and out. “Deep in the caves that burrow through Mu, there is a crystal heart that beats and beats and beats. It is the heart of the creature in the sky, and it beats with a single moment, when obsidian talons of some great creature reached into its body and pulled the heart out. And I know this because I’ve seen it.” She opens her eyes.
: “We’ve all seen it.”
glances up at Salme, and back down at the pictures. Still, softly, seriously: “How do you -know- it is the heart of the Sun?” And, after a moment: “If you are correct about that… then the Sun is not at Rest at all. Which, also, does not conflict with the faith. We know it to be a sign of the God’s Sacrifice. We… know that Sacrifice to have been a brutal one. But you… -saw- it.” He glances up, meets Salme’s eyes with his own; there’s no -question-, no doubt of that claim, in his voice; it is known that the God sends signs and portents.
: “I don’t know for certain, but I have very little doubt. The sun is visible directly above the heart, on screens. The—feeling of it, is, I think the same.” She draws her knees up to her chest, then realizes she maybe shouldn’t be putting her dirty boots on the yazhn of yazhn’s nice couch, and drops her feet. “And I didn’t see it. I didn’t—I saw a moment, over and over again, that barely made sense. I don’t know—what is your god supposed to have sacrificed for?”
listens, and nods - and catches something in her voice even before she draws herself up, and half-reaches towards her, but- lets his hand fall, and he nods. “You felt it, then, which is close enough.” He looks back down at the images. “‘Our world was not always as it is.’ We are told that there was a great evil that would have broken the world and rendered it to nothing. That there were far lands to which you could travel, once. That our land was lush and living. And that the great evil struck at the heart of the world, and the God interposed Himself to protect it.” His fingers trace the linework. “…and I then ask myself if the Sun is God Himself, waiting for His own Day, reliving the moment of His Sacrifice? I ask myself if truth could be that cruel.” More softly: “But it is under no obligations towards kindness.”
: “The truth can be that cruel, yes.” It’s the very first thing she’s said that she sounds absolutely certain about. “However I don’t—Zvahr Yhjrn told me I should talk to you, when I visited her in the archives. You already know about the cycles, you already know about the three other planes that die, over and over and over again. You already know we think the same—that our planes were once one world. But the thing that changed it, that made one world multiple planes … forgive me, but that story sounds like bullshit.”
is up then, and she’s pacing. “Great evil? God? I’ve met them. Did Wolf tell you about the one who calls himself the Architect? The one who is called the Omniclast? I don’t even know if this was them, but the first claimed he built the worlds and made them perfect before the second broke them, and the second claimed that the first could only love bloodless perfection and not something beautiful that lives. I don’t know how your story fits into the story they told me, but it all sounds—I don’t know. Wrong. But I have no real authority for saying it sounds wrong, not really. I know the Omniclast, to some extent. I’ve spoken with him, and—is he capable of something we might call great evil? Certainly. Who isn’t? But is he evil? And from the memory—there was already something the thing that may or may not be your God was worried about and I don’t know.” She stops pacing and looks directly at him. “What I do know is you have that moment to thank for the existence of your Elementals.”
listens, quietly, and gives Salme a long, level look, and when he is done, he simply asks, “How have I harmed you, Salme? And how may I repair that harm?”
looks at him, and stops, mid-step. “You—what?”
looks– upset. Not at her, but upset, but his voice remains level and soft. “Unless I gravely misheard you, you have near to accused me of lying; you have implied that I knowingly kept information from you, when I have been– I have been gnawing and gnawing and gnawing upon the words you first spoke to me in the Temple since you came. I did not, in fact, already know about your planes; given the stories we hold I was not surprised to hear of their existence. And I have a terrible suspicion, which I suspect you hold in your heart also, that my world– my Work– and your world’s suffering are somehow connected. Is that– is that the harm I have done you? If not, tell me of it, and let me answer. I would not be the cause of a human suffering, to whom I have offered shade and comfort, were it in my power to repair the harm done. But I need to understand.”
: “Oh.” She goes over to him, and kneels next to him, reaching for his hands before realizing, mid-movement, that might not be appropriate. Instead, she just leans back on her heels. “No. I’m—Light, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I meant you already knew since we had told you. I was just … I get agitated, when I’m thinking aloud. I pace and throw things out and it’s not organized at all. I do not think you’re lying to me. I do not think you’ve knowingly keeping information from me.” ⁂
stands up, and seats herself again. “I’ve been—bothered, by some elements of your faith. I’ve wanted to pick at it, to ask hard questions about it. Zvahr Yhjrn made me feel like that wouldn’t be … inappropriate, to the right audience. The right audience being you. The … bullshit comment was the story about the the distant past, and I don’t think—it’s true to you. It might be true, generally. I don’t know. It feels wrong. That’s all I was trying to communicate. I apologize again. I—I’m very, very sorry.” 🙧
lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in, the scales around his horns coloring, slightly. “And I am– deeply sorry for having misunderstood you and your intent. I think–“ -and he glances, again, at the images on the table. “I think it is very possible that the -stories- which we were told that surround and concern our faith, which are not, themselves, articles of our faith…” He shrugs, very slightly. “I certainly cannot say who first told them. I would not claim that they are or must be the truth, rather than…” He delicately pronounces: “Bullshit.” And he peers at the images again; he can’t look away. “And I would know the truth if it can be known.”
: “You said… that that moment is to thank for the existence of the Elementals.”
: “I have wondered, as long as I have been able to wonder, why they seek so doggedly to halt the Work.”
: “Has anything you have discovered given you insight as to what drives them so?”
: “I’m not sure. I can tell you what I know and you can tell me if any of it makes sense to you.” She drums her fingers on her knee. “The Elemental in the Red Column is named Algol. They are an Elemental, but they are not just an Elemental—they are also a Shade. They were one thing, once. The word, I think, was ‘stoicheia’—beings of immense power, able to join with humans. The Scorpion Queen has told me they have shown up in worlds other than ours, and I believe her. Algol remembers being that, and then remembers being two separate things, and then—they were reunited, but unlike who they were before. The Elemental part of them is vast, cruel. They were not cruel before the moment, but. Hm. There is nothing but cruelty and power in them now.”
: “Or, not nothing. The part of Algol that is Elemental can laugh, though not, generally speaking, about pleasant things. But they are … they want violence. I think, perhaps, there is a sense of betrayal? The moment you took to be your God’s sacrifice seems to be the moment where Algol, and I suspect the others, were made ‘no-thing.’ They call it the lie.”
does something with his eye-ridges as Salme speaks, and is quiet for another moment. “You spoke with the Red Column, then. You are, truly, full of surprises.” And he just… lets all of -that- percolate, for a moment or two. “It is known to the Yazhn of Yazhn that Elementals and Shades can be combined. It is not something that is to be attempted, for– reasons I think you already understand, perhaps better even than I do.” And another pause, and his voice tinges with concern. “And a Shade can also be junctioned unto a human. If… if what they once were could join with humans, then…” He trails off, and then picks up. “…the tenth Article of Faith reads, ‘That which howls at our threshold was not always voiceless. Pity it, but heed it not.’ That does not seem to be the entire story.” And then he leans backwards, on the couch, and lets out another soft puff of breath through his nose. “I have a question, and it may not have an answer, but I have to ask it, anyway.”
: “What story would -you- tell, given the information you have? Not the truth. We do not have that yet. But to weave the tapestry from known thing, to known thing…” –he glances up, at the wall. “…well, it would not be a matter of hours, I don’t imagine, I’m sorry, the question was not fair to ask.”
: “You can ask any question of me you like. Light knows I certainly have done so.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “With more time, I’ll have a better answer, but I think … something happened to make things as they are now. I suspect it was something that felt necessary; perhaps it even was. And what we’re left with is … a lot of harm, a lot of death, many things left severed and incomplete. And many beautiful things as well. I think I’d tell a story about persisting, despite adversity.” She gives a short laugh, amused at herself, “which is, I think, the story I’ve always been telling, even when I don’t believe it.” ⁂
looks at him, and says, “I think I did great harm to you, you know. Not on purpose. I thought—when we first met, I thought Mu was destroyed like the other three planes are destroyed. I thought it was a secret you kept, because it was a secret you had to keep. That is—I don’t know if Wolf told you, but that is my role. There’s one person on Almachadta who keeps the secret of its death, and I’m the latest in long line of people who have kept that secret. I was trying to let you know we knew, you didn’t have to keep it. I didn’t expect that Mu would be different, which was foolish of me.” ⁂
: “For what it’s worth, I’m … I don’t have proof for this, just a theory, but I don’t think the Rite of Renewal is what destroys the three planes. All three of them have already entered their destructive countdowns. And … your sun, it exudes flourishing, burning, and pellucid gnosis, and it’s—at least with Almachadta, it’s too much flourishing gnosis that drives its death; what could Mu gain from our planes? And. Algol showed me that at some specific point relative to the Rite of Renewal, the sun gets brighter. Afterwards, it’s dimmer. That further supports my theory that the gnosis is going somewhere.” She shrugs, a little helplessly. “I don’t know if that’s useful to you, but. I’ve been thinking it.” 🙧
listens, again. Smiles, a few times, fiddles with his fingers like he’s expecting there to be beads to worry at that aren’t there. “…it’s a good story to tell. It’s our story, too, I think.” He sighs, softly, and then looks up at Salme. “I know– I have told no one this. No one but for my own Teacher, when I was an Acolyte. But I- I know that I will perform the Rite of Renewal in my lifetime. I… feel that it will be soon. But– it’s as you say, if there is a clock and it is ticking, our Rite cannot be what starts it. And yet…” He sighs. “I will learn what it entails, and it will be too late to help you.”
: “We have ways of staying in touch with people across planes. Ask Aurelius about that the next time you see him,” she says, but that isn’t what she’s focused on. “Before we arrived and filled you with doubts about the Rite of Renewal, how did you feel about that task?”
snorts softly, out of his nose. “Joy, that I would be the one awake to perform that Work.”
: “You said you knew you would perform the Rite, that you feel it would be soon. How do you know? Is it just a sense? Are there signs which you see?”
looks at his own hand, flexes his fingers. Looks at his own black, sharp claws, suddenly. “A sense. A… restlessness, a pull. Not overwhelming. Not yet.”
nods. “When … I first took up the Mask, I knew I’d be the one to see the end of Almachadta.”
: “Which. Is not the same. But the knowing—that kind of certainty. I’ve only ever felt it once before, but I have felt it.”
nods, once. “Then you have- not my sympathies, but my admiration, and my understanding, so far as it extends. And if the world suspends its cruelty enough to permit me to tell you, you will have the truth of the Rite of Renewal.”
nods, and hesitates, but asks, “The creature in the heart that might be your god—it may have had talons and wings. I noticed there are no images of birds or bats around here, and Aurelius found that especially strange. Do … winged creatures mean anything to you?”
shakes his head, slightly. “Forgive me, are– are birds and bats a particularly common motif on the worlds from which you…? We have no images of our God, we never have. Nor any… particular descriptions of the God’s physicality.” And, again, his gaze turns towards the images Salme gave him. “Except, perhaps, now. I…” He shakes his head.
: “Birds and bats aren’t particularly common as motifs, no. Especially not for deities. Is this—not the first time someone’s asked you this?”
shakes his head. “No, it just struck me as strange. That Aurelius would find that particularly strange, that is. Understand that I have– no concept of what a bat even looks like, and had not seen a bird until the trickster spirit accompanying you elected to visit me wearing one’s visage.”
: “Oh, Aurelius found the lack of images of your god—wait. I’m sorry what.”
: “Like a hippalectria that flies, but much smaller, and the colour of lavender flowers? I had the impression it was something borrowed.”
: “I—wait. That’s Jory. He’s a fiend. He can’t … did he get out of the library? Did he talk to you?”
pulls out her tomestone and starts typing something on it.
: “We had quite the stimulating conversation.”
pauses, mid type. “Kind of abrasive? Weird way of talking? Strangely sweet and thoughtful beneath it all?”
: “I believe he called himself the ‘Angel of Darkness’, if that helps you narrow things down. Do you keep several trickster spirits with you as you travel?”
is having, perhaps, a little bit of fun with this, now.
: “Hm. I was going to say ‘no’ to that, but. An argument could be made for multiples, yes. One’s much quieter than the other, but might, ultimately, be more of a challenge for you.” Then she looks at Ravhi, and she laughs. “Anyway, you met Jorule. He’s—he. Oh Light. If you go into the Library, he can appear in his own form. Otherwise, he—“ She laughs harder. “I can’t believe he actually used the fiend. I love him.”
: “Anyway, he kind of is … possessing Aurelius? But they’re also kind of the same person, and also not. And he hopped into the fiend I made for him and came and had a conversation with you.” She grins at him. “And you liked him?”
is laughing, too, now; the laugh’s infectious. “Rather a lot, actually. He reminded me of my Teacher. And of a very dear friend.”
: “Good. He—he’s also a very dear friend of mine. I’m glad you had a stimulating conversation.” She smiles a bit, thinking to herself, then looks up at him. “I apologize. I feel like—I came in here and was very, very strange at you, and. I guess. Is there anything you’d like from me? I don’t want to seem like someone who’s … I guess. Qarina is my friend, and Wolf is my … ‘brother’ isn’t a term that will make sense to you, but he’s very important to me, and I wanted. Answers. But I also wanted to get to know you, and I feel like I did not do the latter very well at all.”
smiles, and the smile’s a little bit strained, but it’s also genuine. “Qarina has used the term to refer to her shadow, and I believe I understand the meaning. Anyone whom he holds dear, I would–“ The scales around his horns go rather dark. “Wish to be on good terms with, at the very least. I am– I am simply glad that I did not cause you harm or offense. For a moment,” -and he laughs. “For a moment I was concerned that you were about to engage me in the Rite, and I’m quite certain you’d have me at a disadvantage if you did.” And he pauses, for a moment. “I… would ask something of you, actually, yes.” ⁂
: “When I sent Dyu after you to the sietch, I gave him a letter to give to Wolf, and among other things I asked Wolf to teach Dyu things that I– felt that I would not be able to. There are things that he has known, things that he has seen, that I could never know or see, and I would that he could share those with him. And I have wondered…” He exhales through his nose. “I have wondered what he could learn if he were traveling by your side. Do you think this utterly foolish? Would it even be possible?”
considers. “I don’t think it’s foolish at all. I think it carries certain risks. There’s a chance that it’s the interplanar travel that wiped our memories initially. That might happen to Dyu, and he’d have to decide if that’s a risk he’s willing to take. I think it might not happen, but I’m also not certain.” She catches her lower lip between her teeth. “Will you be okay without him here? Will Qarina? It seems like … it might be giving up a critical piece of your support system, right when things are becoming exceptionally difficult.”
nods, once, twice. “It… would be a challenge for Qarina. It would be a challenge for me, to be certain, but it would– it would definitely be a challenge for Qarina. I just. I think of him, able to see other -worlds-, and.” He shakes his head. “It would be his decision. But I know that– if he felt I wished it for him, he would want to say yes. And I know that Qarina would tell him to follow his own heart. And I know that it would crush hers.”
does reach out and take his hands, then. “I can invite him, if you’d like? To remove the weight of … your will, perhaps pushing him toward it?” She squeezes his hands. “I’d love to invite Qarina as well—I may invite Qarina as well, but I know she’d say no. She cares very much about protecting people. But I can make the invitation to Dyu.”
laughs, softly, and- he does take Salme’s hands, and his are so much softer than you’d expect to look at them. “I feel it cannot come from me. My words carry too much weight. But if you invite them– she will say no, I know she will. I wish– as hard as it would be for us without her, I wish that she felt free to join you, as well.” A soft sigh. “I wish for many things, Salme.”
: “Regardless, I will invite them both.” She squeezes his hands again. “If you ever want to tell me your wishes, or your stories, Yazhn Ravhi, I am always willing to listen. Joy or sorrow, the Sword-Saint carries both. I’d like, someday, to hear about who wove you such lovely tapestries.”
: “About that, you– may be able to meet her, if only for a very short time. Tomorrow we will be holding a Festival of the Day, and– regardless of what Dyu decides I had hoped for him to meet her, and her lot was drawn. And I– would like for you and yours to attend, I think it might help you understand us, our world and faith, but I will understand if you wish otherwise.”
considers, before nodding. “You’d be … okay with that? My meeting her? Even after I came in here and was—not my best self? And said all those things? I mean, I would do so happily, but. It’s all right if you’d prefer to not have someone like that around an important ritual.”
looks wry. “I would do you the honor of assuming your lines of engagement would differ between a public ceremony and a private meeting. And I would share with all of you everything that I can of– of who we are, and what we believe, and why.”
laughs a little. “That’s. Deserved. And true. I am capable of acting domesticated in public.” She squeezes his hand again then lets go. “And I’d like to attend, and I’m sure the others would as well. And—as for what I said, about stories and bullshit and all the rest? I’m a storyteller. Everything is a story to me, so if I used that term and it sounded dismissive, I didn’t mean it to be so. And regardless of anything else, what your people are, who they are and what they do—those things are real, and beautiful, and they matter.”
: “Not that my opinion particularly matters but—“ and it’s Ravhi’s turn to see her blush. “At any rate, I should be heading back. I want to spend the night at the sietch.”
laughs, softly. “Give them my regards, will you? Dyu will be returning shortly, perhaps you’ll catch him on the crossing, he implied that he had something for me. I look forward to seeing you at Festival.”
nods again, and then curtsies. “I’ll see you soon.” And then, with an awkward little wave, she heads out to procure a hippalectria—for legitimate travel this time.