Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies

She does not worry about the path they travel. It has never been something that worries her. She wanders and weaves through this world, invincible (or nearly so) but for the day she finally chooses to meet Death once again. Instead, she watches the black stallion, annoyed. Not at him or this outing, but at herself. At the way she watches his movements, so very careful and practiced, she thinks. Deliberately laced with charm. And she thinks this because she moves in the same way, acts and talks in the same way. It is deliberate. It is a façade.

But why does she care what he is covering? Because he reminds you of Erebor, she thinks, Raven agreeing with her thoughts in emotion though not yet words. If she hadn’t come to the realization on her own, he would have found enough emotions to make her figure it out. She has never missed home, but he reminds her of it. Reminds her of the things she has left behind without a second thought. It had been so easy. But then again, they had left her too, and it had been easy for them. Should she miss them more than she does? Does she miss them in a way she doesn’t yet know?

And was that really all that appealed to her about her newfound general? She’s pretty damn sure Raven is trying to find a way to tell her No, from the emotions that course through him, and so she promptly ignores him, turning her attention to the ground.

Their General speaks, sounding like a broken record, like he’s said this a thousand times, and she wonders if he means the words. Though she thinks he does, because they sound true. Even she, the Princess who’d never had to patrol a border, knew that her mother’s army had done as much. She prefers being the one out patrolling, even if they are unlikely to find anything interesting. Soon enough though he sounds more certain of his own words, more excited, and she grins back at him slightly. That Cheshire cat grin that is so much her mother’s, but here is simply her own.

“Kaos and the God of the Spark spoke of other gods, thought to be dead. Can you tell me the story of that?” She asks as they walk, less because she cares for the story itself, and more because the story itself might help them understand more now. She is no historian, but she understands the important of knowledge, the power that can be found in words and stories just as much as within their ability to fight. Not all power comes from strength alone.

He tells them to look around the Steppe, and so she does, but in truth, she does not know what she is looking for. Not here. In this strange world that does not yet make sense to her. But of course, that is the purpose of this exercise, is it not? So she looks, finding shrubs and some footsteps and some evidence of what seems like a rather large beast. Though these don’t seem like uncommon things, and eventually, she comes back to the group. Another mare has joined them, and Weaver gives her a nod before turning to Erebos, “I see you. Should we trust you, in this moment?” Because she does trust him, of course, but if she were the one leading the exercise she’d very likely turn on them just to prove a point. After all, hadn’t Kaos done exactly that?

weaver