Ingrid rolled her eyes, in a friendly way if that's possible, when Akumi asked if the bird thing was "just sarcasm." While Ingrid was sarcastic, she definitely wasn't a liar, partly because well, it was bad, and partly because she really sucked at it. She might have told them all about it if Akumi hadn't asked Rikyn about his past.

Ingrid entirely expected him to bite her head off. He didn't. Well, color me impressed. What color is impressed anyway? Like green? Purple maybe? What about... she shook her head, deciding to put that super relevant train of thought on hold to catch the rest of Rikyn's reply.

"...alongside this very threat: don’t fuck up."

Her first response was a snort of laughter. The importance of it didn't hit her until a moment later when she realized that Rikyn, who she'd assumed had won the lead title in a fight or something, never asked to be a lord in the first place. She mentally slapped herself for judging him so fast. Sure he was an ass, who wasn't at least once a week? But a snobby, my-left-ear-is-probably-worth-four-of-you kind of ass? No.

He went on to tell them about The God of the Spark, who sounded to her like the most chill god in existence, excluding the bit where he shoved young horses into leadership positions without asking them. Finally, Rikyn asked to hear about her old gods. She hoped she could still remember the legends.

"Okay. Here's one."

"Many years ago in the smallish Kingdom of Old Rheven, the Frostfall, as you call it here, drew on for many months. There was panic among the villagers. They knew if they weren't able to sow their seeds in time, their supplies wouldn't last until the next harvest. See, venturing out of the village to graze was perilous, there were — and still are — griffons and dragons around those parts.

They held a meeting in the town square and prayed to Terra, the goddess of earth and leader of Omnipoten's High Council, for help. The next morning, she stood before them, an enormous, silvery mare with more muscle than an ox. To the king, she held out a large seed. 'Plant this,' she said, 'and your troubles will be over.'

Furious with the goddess, the king spat the seed at her feet. He knew that no matter what might grow, one seed could not bear enough fruit to feed his people. Feeling she had been wronged, the goddess vanished in a clap of thunder, vowing that the cold would continue.

When the dust settled, a young colt, Lucil, remained. He took the seed and planted it where he stood. Each day he tended to it. One night, the villagers woke suddenly to a warm, yellow light shining from their town's square.

The ground around the sapling had softened, and the snow that blew above it thawed and fell as rain. The tree that grew from the seed had not borne fruit, but the new season itself.

The king felt ashamed. He had seen a seed, and assumed that its only purpose was to grow as a crop. He had doubted Terra's wisdom. He decreed that when he was of age, Lucil would take his place as ruler, as the colt could see a possibility where everyone else believed none had existed.

While the Kingdom of Old Rheven has long fallen, and most of its history has been lost, in the center of New Rheven, which has has been built above it, the sapling that Lucil planted now stands a great, sturdy tree. When the days grow long, much of the kingdom still gathers around it to celebrate the melting frost.

The end. So... Can I get the water now or what?"