Success.

Good, good job, Enyo! Oh, I’m so proud! That cheeriness in her voice as she responds to you, the way she leaves her nosy little questions in the air, to dissipate and disappear—yes, yes, I do believe you’ve pulled it off very well! You give a watery smile, hesitant, pulling yourself from your melancholy shell. You’re being cheered up. She’s telling you about her things.

Your eyes alight with golden interest upon everything she shows you—to her bow (a weapon), to the feathers she wears (one from a Goddess), to a bracelet given to her by Iona (who is a spy in the herd, very important) and your lids dry themselves and you hadn’t even released a sob. That’s all very fine and all, but even then you’re beginning to feel a stir of jealousy as she wonders why people give her so many things. It would be nice to be showered with gifts like this—to be completely decked and embroidered with all the little trinkets of gold and silver that adoring people thrust into your open, bemused palms. It’d be nice to be wanted and loved so totally, to be consumed by it, suffocated by it.

Erthë twirls, and she shimmers as she does so with all the things she wears, sparkling even more fiercely than your eyes alone ever could. Not to say your eyes are inferior of course; between the two of you and your two pairs of eyes, you decide you have the prettiest, rarest set, of course. But that does not mean their glittering light couldn't be amplified by something dangling from the neck, perched proudly on the ear. “I don’t have anything, no,” you say slowly, and there is a little mew of envy weaved in the wonder in your tone, “no one’s ever given me a present before. I’d love to get one.”

You scuff your hoof again, for the interest is beginning to wane again (again!) now that the tears have stopped and you’ve inquired about her treasures. You’re not interested in stealing—the scenario plays out in your head, of course, but the thought of taking something for yourself is incredibly dirty compared to the idea of being given things on the adoring backs of lesser creatures. You don’t want a forced victory, because, of course, it must be natural.

“Do…what do you do in the herd?” you ask, inquiring about the girl herself now, instead of just her trinkets. Might as well learn who it is you’re really talking to—how she matters, just like Paaaapa told you to do. “Do you have a job yet? Or are you still too young?”



"talk talk talk"