It seemed like an eternity before she felt the stirring of a voice like static energy crackling through the stony quarters. Steadfast the Haruspex stood, swaying lightly to and fro while she let the magnimous sound flow through the current of her body. And?, it demanded, silence trailing indelibly after the question, followed by a spark permeating through the darkness. Blue eyes squinted; an entity burst, not gracefully, from this seed of light, tumbling unceremoniously onto the cavern floor. Was this the god she would call to? Did he expect her to bow down, to kiss his hooves and wallow at his glory? She did not stare, but rather gave him an adroit pass-over, finding him well-muscled and stout, but not short, with a deft, practical sort of build. No, she decided, he struck her as more of a practical fellow, and anyway, she would not submit to any entity, high-flung or otherwise, until they proved their worth to her. Years of disfavor and betrayal made the blue lady bitter and cynical, but she would not let that taint her perception of this deity. She looked him in the eyes.

He spoke; she ignored most of the words, though a facade of calm hearkening was placed carefully over her gentle features. This was not the Tome Guardian, stern but wise; if this god had any ounce of wisdom, he did not demonstrate it in words or action so far, but there was hope, Huyana thought. "I am Huyana," she said, unflinchingly (but he already knew that, didn't he?). "I seek your counsel regarding the basin" Was there anything else to say on the matter? Would he deign to give her information, or would he make her work for it first? She thought of Deimos; what information would he need? War, peace, magic, news of invading hoards, of impending births? She thought of Lothiriel, her beloved daughter — was there anything she needed? No, this is only between a seer and her god, Huyana decided; there was no need to act as a third party. From beneath a canopy of dark lashes she studied him, relaxed but intent on his strange face—how different he was from the half-dead Tome Guardian, but they both harbored that seed of divinity in their blood. Older than the stars she guessed this deity to be, but his bearing was modest (or as modest as a god could be, she thought).

For a moment, the near-stoic calm dropped from her eyes, revealing a much more vulnerable girl — one who had no care for war or trade or news of battle. "Is there any hope of peace?" she whispered, knowing the answer yet finding it irrisistable not to wonder.