M A R E N - By the precepts of her purity -
The snow had started falling more slowly — perhaps more beautiful, in thicker clumps of soft crystals, falling like feathers from the cloudy skies. "Arantza," she said with a thoughtful nod. She noticed the soft sounding voice of the mare, where there was perhaps a hint of an accent. Perhaps this thorn-crowned mare was someone shy, would not tell her her story so easily. But then the mare asked something she hadn't expected so soon and she couldn't help but appreciate the bold mentality hidden beneath the sweet attitude. Still, she couldn't say a lot about the question itself, as she also couldn't help to think it wasn't something as smart as she had liked to hear. It was one driven by curiosity, and not one refined and worked on for long enough. That was clear. Maren would have asked if it mattered to her that much, if it bothered her — and if it did this Arantza could run back to wherever she came from and hide under the fucking thorn-bushes that had probably birthed her.
But the priestess simply shrugged as her silent gaze wondered off into the distance, still with a lonely smile tainting her lips. "Not that I know off," she shrugged once before pressing the I-don't-like-talking-about-myself topic away into a not-to-return-to corner, for it was certainly not interesting enough for Maren herself to talk about. Yet, the mare wanted to know who she was, and thus there wasn't really anything more she could do. "I am the Dragon's Throat's Diviner, Maren," she told Arantza in an official kind of way. She could after all, by no means know for sure if this girl wasn't familiar with the lands. So far she could only think that this mare was a wanderer.
But still, she herself had been a pilgrim before settling down in these lands, and with all those years of wandered from people to people, she had developed a nose that could sniff out those she had shared her roads with, even though never met. For sometimes travelers walked miles and still didn't go anywhere. Sometimes they didn't even mean to ever find anything like a treasure or a home. And thus, perhaps, this girl had simply stumbled upon the snowed-in threshold without even slightly knowing that she had fallen into the grasp of a land governed by Kings and Czars, Gods and rogue-groups. Perhaps the girl had simply wanted to know what was past that hill — and then wanted to know what was past the next hill, and then the next hill, and then... Maren looked into the green eyes, reminded her of spring once again. "Where do you come from?" Maren asked with a melody of tunes reflecting her interest.
@[Arantza]
Notes: Sorry for the wait c:
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