The girl’s eyes search the topography, largely unexplored as Tembovu gives them names. Names she is only vaguely familiar with. But lands in themselves had an essence to them, a mood, an atmosphere – and the Thistle Meadow is the only one she can commit to memory and feeling. The long grasses, and the fragrance of the meadow flowers trickle past her belly, soothing in their passing.

She doesn’t mind his heavy voice carrying the distance between them. It drowns out the anxiety that frills the fringe of her neck. Each nervous escalation softened, as thoughts of Gods and wishes broke free from her mindful restraint.  Despite offering his smiles, steady and bemused, she cannot reciprocate a mind of certainty or calmness. Her eyes twist, glittering within her gaze as her face holds passively in those deep blue eyes. Perhaps she offers only a small and brief smile, feeling obligated to show something for the King’s efforts. It’s not as if anyone else had offered this opportunity. So maybe if she put some effort into it, he’d realize she was truly grateful for his guidance to the volcanic pass.

Her steps follow behind him on the narrow road, soft and muted compared to the King’s. The wild-child takes in the surroundings awed by the heat she could spy from the volcano, and the bubbling pools of lava – ethereal in their blue glow. The ocean’s spray is not far, as it tinges the acrid air – a scent she cannot truly describe, in its waft of super heated minerals and liquefied earth.

When the shrines appear, she lets out a subdued coo that rattles past her throat. Ears pricked forwards, tail swaying as she ducked her head and neared closer. How could she call for just one? As she stood before them, her mind raced with what little knowledge she had on them. Her previous world wasn’t confined to gods. But rather a fluid continuum, and a wholeness with the lands. Perhaps Helovia was like that in its own way, yet – that possibility remained unanswered, untested.

“Not all the Gods have shrines though…”

The voice drifts nonchalant between them. The mare twists her ears about to finally lock on to its presence. Catching the glowing butterfly dancing along Tembovu’s horn.

“Ah…”

Confusion, uncertainty fills the vowel with an uneasy hum. She grunted, flinched back from the talking creature, thing, insect as it danced toward her.

Don’t touch me.

Soon enough, ITS voice carves out from the tiny creature. Turning the girl’s ears against her skull, and ushering a severe hiss from her tongue. Reluctantly she glanced at the trees, only because it was bizarre to see the plant life so near to the volcano.

How could she trust the THING who’d deceived them all from the very beginning? For whatever reason or purpose for the Goddess’ trees, she settled her scalding glare at the thing that threatened her home and people. A snarl wrinkled her nose, as she clacked her teeth and clenched her jaws.

The offer was glorious, it was tangible; but its logic collided with her fierce spirit. Collided with ITS memory in the marshes, and on the beaches. And how foolish she’d felt for following along like a simple, brainless lamb. His rather open and neutral tone did not help his case. Without realizing or prying further, she lunged for the insect with her mouth, and snapped her teeth out for its body.

She could feel tears well up at the edges of her eyes.

Instead of despair she merely felt the heat of anger, fueled by her frustration. And she burned a heat she’d never felt before. Nothing quite like the evening after the storm. When she’d lost them all, and the terrain had offered no answers, no clues. Just the beguiling lull of the wind, and the silence that she’d learn to embrace.