Öde had to resist a laugh at Ashamin's expense as the Time God ribbed him with his tongue better than his horn; the sound instead came out like a strangled snort, reminiscent of a pig's oink. He tried to mask it with a rough cough and a groan, the latter not really being a charade as the jostle to his organs renewed that endless agony he endured this evening.

Surely if Öde were on the receiving end his mirth wouldn't be so free, but he wasn't, and so it was. In fact, quiet as he sustained himself, the broad grin nonetheless flashed across his lips, exposing his teeth like a hungry wolf as he clung to his distance and whatever shadows the night had to offer. Everything considered though, Öde was sure he was a bit more open to such casual conversation with a God. True, he was expecting something a bit more, well, godly. Proper perhaps, professional surely, like all leaders were supposed to be, figure heads to inspire and rouse the herd to motivation and action when the need came. It was hard to love sarcasm, especially when the frigid north already bit you often enough.

So Öde was not immune to the disappointment that he was sure Ashamin was feeling before the god, accentuated by his own stubbornly cordial replies. Simultaneously though, Öde relished the manner of the Time God, for it felt so, so, equal. If the God before them could be at such ease in conversation, then it felt even easier for Öde to reach at the heavens and grasp the godlihood for himself. The notion widened his smirk, soon lost to a wince when next he breathed.

Yet the shadows did not hold Öde secure, and the God did place him beneath his teeth. It was such a simple, short, smooth question that Öde almost didn't notice it. he only did because his attention was rapt on the deity, obsessing over him in ways similar, yet disparagingly different from Ashamin. At once the realization of being addressed dawned on Öde and in response his head lifted suddenly. the movement pulled taut parts better left loose, and in response pain flared so cruelly he shrunk into himself even further, his bloodied gaze glazed over. His teeth grit before parting to shovel out a reply, doing his best to seem at ease and conscious he was utterly failing at it. Was this how Ashamin felt every time before the mirror?

"I did," he affirmed, and thought to leave it at there. Surely that'd be enough to satisfy the God, but now that he had managed to garner some attention he was reluctant to let it go, however poor his grasp and his condition in the spotlight. "And I have, but then i don't," he tried to stay cool and casual, as if immortality were a walk in the park for someone like him, and like the Spark.

In the end that's all it really was. He died, and then he didn't any more, and all the while he hurt for it and it was both a reminder of his godhood and his mortality, loving and loathing it like some sort of hostile relationship.