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The God of the Spark watched her approach, and he struggled between labeling the sway of her steps as defiant, awestruck or timid. He glanced into her very blue eyes, not shifting from his very still position in the middle of the stone floor. The wind caught the drapery and shifted it, casting a shadow on his form that made him look impossibly dark. As she spoke, her voice squeaking in the wind, he struggled not to grimace visibly. Was she usually this meek? Certainly not, not with Ophelia as her mother.
"Roskuld," he responded, the normal tenor of his voice drowning her peep in a rather loud way. The God sighed and finally shifted from his statuesque stance, flicking his tail absently as he carefully considered his words. "I am sure that you have questions," he said, voice quieting every so slightly, watching her tightly.
"You can ask them, if you want," he suggested, not sure about how to speak with a child. She was still young, very young. Snow littered the ground around the pond which had a layer of ice over the top, but the sunlight filtered in through the ceiling, casting beautiful, ethereal lights through the tinted panes.
"I also have something that I need to ask of you. My sight is clouded, being blocked, by someone very powerful. I need to know who. I need you to infiltrate the herds, gain friends, ask if they know anything about the disease. The fact that I cannot see who caused this issue is disconcerting and a violation of natural law," he said, his voice clear and stern. "I cannot do this, but you can. When you learn something new, come to the veins. I will meet you there, and you will be rewarded."
[[This will continue for as long as Ros has questions!]]
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