yael

Oh. Yael is quite obviously surprised by the voice’s almost immediate response; she is not alarmed, simply acknowledging that what she’d imagined in her mind - this is not it. And that’s okay. Salt is replaced by a fresh, light, yet earthy smell, while light and darkness separated under a cloud-filled sky and become… something. She peers at it thoughtfully, trying to discern if it looks like any particular shape, or even has definitive lines. It doesn’t… but after their conversation at the altar, she finds it easier to accept that he will not take a solid form. This time, she has something other than a rock to look at - that’s nice. Some men sure do like to stay mysterious...

What startled her wasn’t the sudden appearance of a deity, but the ‘appearance’ of Kaos. Here. In this place. For some reason she assumed he was somewhat restricted to his altar area (a foolish thought, given the variety of occurrences on patrols) - perhaps even that this place was off limits to him. Not in a malicious way, of course, but simply in naivete about how the Gods really operate. But now that he is here, it makes her wonder about the amount of power he truly has. This is the other God’s place, surely if there were one place they would ‘catch’ him, it would be here? Hmmm… it is an interesting question indeed, and one that she imagines will remain mostly unanswered until Kaos wants to reveal it.  The golden mare offers the dark (though not threatening - no, there are no creepy, spidey-sense vibes coming from it) mass a shy smile as soon as it calls her clever, and it remains on throughout the niceties.

She makes a dismissive sound in the back of her throat, gesturing with a black wing-tip as if to brush her vast knowledge away. “A circumstance of birt, zat ees all. Vit no vone to speak vit, a language ees generally useless…” One corner of her mouth quirks upward in a slight grin eyeing the vague shape with a look of mixed appreciation and appraisal. “Unteel now, eet seems.” A breath catches a question in her throat, wanting to know how he, an amalgamation of the Rift Gods knows the language of the Children of Yisrael, but she has a bigger, far more expansive question in mind.

“T’ere ees much I vould ask, as a stranger een a land zat ees not as strange as eet vonce vas, and even more of you, Kaos, geeven ze current circumstances…” Yael pauses, uncertainty crossing her features as she speaks again. “I am not even sure you can answer zis…” Or if the other Gods would freely discuss the topic with her, a nosy, intellectual mortal.

So. Without further ado: “Vhat ees ze nature of mageec een Xelovia?” No, that’s not quite the right phrasing, she must elaborate. “Vhat I meen ees, ah, vhat are ze parameters, vhere does eet come from, and vhy do t’ose xoo had eet outside xere no longer xaf eet? Are ze Gods ze source of eet all, or are t’ere ozer povers at vork?” For a moment, just a moment, she looks desperate, lost, yearning for answers that can put her heart at rest. The pain of a year’s worth of grief colors the edges of a normally calm voice until she catches it and swallows heavily. The truth is that her motivation is twofold: scholarly and personal. The personal part likes to lay in wait for her scholarly part to get lax or nervous, then jump out and embarrass her when she leasts expect it by hijacking her body and taking it on a joyride.

At least this time, the etiquette police are on patrol and manage to yank away the personal bullhorn efore she can ask a thousand more questions. How did Yael get here, how did Weaver get here? Where are her twins, and can she ever go back?