Wisdom, true wisdom, was something so established, so treasured and valued... but still so lost to the world, unidentified, intangible because it got overwritten by the mind’s trash over and over and over again —and yet, decipherable by those rare, quick minds; the weavers of thought. Those who could fiddle the gold from a pyrite-wall; those who were brave enough to sink down so deeply, into the threads and blossoming figments of their minds, could gain something that was this... sacred. And thus; standing opposite of another from perhaps the same kind of ‘wise’ rank did not naturally mean to her that she should loosen her thoughtfully set-up protection. In all of her arrogance, her knowledge was hers to decide for. For her mind’s self-proclaimed treasures were her art of trade, her cherished possession, and for that reason alone she held such secrecy.
But she enjoyed an open-and-out discussion about a seemingly so innocent tale, and —well perhaps she should’ve discussed this with a priest of the Moon to add drama, but she enjoyed it nevertheless with one from the Spark, even though one of young age —more than she and her cold eyes would acknowledge (depending on how well one could read faces).
And for this secret enjoyment it did not matter if she trusted the Emissary or not, for sharing wisdom was not about trust, it was not about the connection one had with the opposite side’s morals, but rather the lines of thought that were hidden behind it —But that worked only if they kept playing the same game, with the same rules.
To her intriguement and amusement he parted that what the story spoke of and what he himself found. “Is it really unfair, though? Isn’t it just love —the lovely mortal version of it? Was Sol at that moment not just simply adoring the mortal characteristics in the Goddess Bastet; The one that strives to exist, to survive because she felt threatened? Surely couldn’t have been her cat-like face. For, after watching over them for so long, she had been greatly influenced by the people she desired to protect. And it would explain why he continued on loving her, even after she was banned to the mortal world by Luna.” Where Bastet used her mortality to win over love, Luna used a typical recurring method in lore involving Gods, which basically meant: “If I can’t have him, you can’t have him either.” which was tragic, but yet a normality and thus Bastet did get what she deserved, but Maren didn’t feel like putting her agreement into words, for she was still the diviner. "In the end what Sol and Bastet teach us is that all we can do is live as we endure loss."
Somehow, at the end of his sentence, she sensed some… carefully directed toppings. Was he saying that she was prejudiced because of her emotional connections with the Sun? You overestimate me, she mused in thought. “Although yes, I am biased, I do believe that the Sun deserves to shine more hours of the day, if that is the point of your statement — and perhaps my point of the story,” she noted probably also for his entertainment. “... And yet I am also a terrible hypocrite. For, I too am aware of the importance of balance.”
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[O] Bloody Hands buried in Bloody Sands
