She remembered me too, which proved I wasn’t going nuts with PTSD or something, because the memory was starting to flash before my eyes vividly and I could feel the overpowering heat and burn of the smoke that wrecked my chest and I could almost smell the husking stink of “giant reptile”. I remembered her pale face in the darkness—well, okay, I didn’t know it was her face but I remember seeing it anyway. She said I fought bravely—well, hmm. I didn’t feel particularly brave. In fact, I’m pretty sure I distinctly decided to improvise the whole thing because why the hell not? I needed to do something and this…was the first time someone told me I had done something right.

I choked up for a moment, my mouth sort of gulping open and closed in my momentary stupor, because it was a novel experience for me. I didn’t know how to respond to praise, or even a mild complement, because that just never happens. What do you say? How do you respond? “Er….you too,” I mumbled, my eyes awkwardly cast to the side, scuffing a bit of the sand I hated so much. I meant what I said, too, but I’m not much of a socialite and being polite isn’t something I practice on the daily. Was I doing it right? Was I making it too awkward?

She interrupted me, though, this time with the biggie: *“Why are you seeking things related to the Gods?"* Which, knowing me, was an easy enough question to answer: Because my dad’s a big jerk in the sky and someone should’ve told me a long time ago and it’s sort of a requirement in the Demi-God Curriculum Of Finding-Out-What-The-Fuck-To-Do. But another thought hit me—that these people had no clue that my dad was the God of Fucking Time. And a part of me wondered if I really wanted them to know me as the daughter of Time and Shock….and I don’t really know why, but it was an intriguing idea, and I sort of…ran…with it. “Because I was never taught these things,” I answered, “and I really, really want to find someone who can teach me.” All of which was perfectly true, except that it lacked a detail or three. In all honesty, I wanted them to know me as Ros instead of The Time Daughter Roskuld, just in case I actually do fudge the bucket and fail horrendously in whatever the hell I was supposed to do.

Cera chimed in, though, saying some super funny shit that made my eyebrows rise; I didn’t have to know? I had plenty of time to figure it out? Cera, poor Cera—if only you had a clue of how much time I had! All this freaking time on my hands and the sands in the hourglass still seemed to be finding a leak somewhere—it wasn’t enough, it was never enough. They were so hilarious to me, his words of comfort, that I actually fell out laughing, completely breaking down in raucous screams of laughter. Once I started, it was hard to stop; the longer I laughed, the harder it came, and I felt like such the asshole for laughing at Cera like that, believe me I did. I appreciated his concern, because it was nice someone was thinking in your best interest, even if it was a little vexing at times. He had no clue, though. None.

It was moments before I reigned it in, pulling myself back together, regaining some semblance of the manners my Ma had tried to teach me all my life. I was still hiccupping slightly, my eyes glazed with a film of tears, when I looked back at Cera, then to Onni. “…..Sorry,” I gasped, still breathless from the laughter. “Just remembered a…joke.” I shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, distinctly aware that I had just done something extremely rude and extremely odd, too. Wasn’t I supposed to be sneaking out of this place? Way to be inconspicuous, Ros. “So…..I mean, I dunno,” I said again, my earlier gruffness coming back to me. “I really do want to learn more about the gods, though. Do….do either of you know anyone who can help me?” I looked from one pair of eyes to the other tentatively; asking for help was a huge ego buster, but I didn’t have much of an ego at this point. I mean, look at me. I’m stark, raving mad.