They distantly hear as Lethys takes a tree. That is something familiar, annoying and frustrating and nearly amusing for it. In truth, they were expecting him to take several as soon as they started growing the first copse.
Pausing only to feed their worshippers, Monzun settles in their Temple without reaction.
...They were going to give the god of this land a Wood Miracle. When they check on the one who can (Willow, the revived Sable's descendent), she sleeps in a corner of their Creature Cave. Mortals live swift lives, but they're fine at judging them by now; they can discuss this with her later.
They meant as they said, impulse though it was: they see no reason to bar Lethys without active danger. If he wants their trees to build, so he can have them. If he wishes to wage war, he will need to take more Land than this one, even if they leave it entirely. Even if he returns to the one he...may have came from?
Monzun made an offer there, as well. Although Lethys hadn't answered their line of questioning if that was his home, as the Land of warmth and the Guide's bones is theirs.
If it were, would it matter? He expected them to destroy it for only knowing it was there. He likely does still!
They dislike all this immensely.
But they are a god. Daunting odds and absolute confusion hasn't stopped them before.
Sweetheart wasn't upset with Lethys, Monzun's words about apology going over her head as much as the gods. The bone-itch feeling returned with talk of Nemesis, and her god isn't around to rein her in quite so close.
In the dark, she crosses boundaries of blue, shaking a few followers that don't follow Monzun from sleep, beholding her stepping over straw huts with panicked awe. Even with the eyes on her she doesn't greet them; it's been years since impressing people is something she's needed to do for more than fun, and she doesn't want to do anything like that right now.
A little way into the plains, she stops.
There was a Village here. It was Monzun's. It's nobody's, now, not even peoples' who trickled back to the green-roofed one their grandparents came from, meant to be a stopgap while they frantically reached for Lethys' last two Villages as well.
Well, almost nobody's. Sweetheart crouches and prods at the familiar-but-dilapidated ruins, and finds a surprise when from beneath the house bursts a wolf, very unhappy to have its den trifled with.
Her fur is too thick to even get a pinch at her skin when it tries to maul her finger. She lifts it curiously, considering whether toss it or not. Maybe eat it...? Predators are uncomfortably chewy, though. Fish and pigs are better.
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syntheid
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Date: 2025-03-30 05:55 am (UTC)Pausing only to feed their worshippers, Monzun settles in their Temple without reaction.
...They were going to give the god of this land a Wood Miracle. When they check on the one who can (Willow, the revived Sable's descendent), she sleeps in a corner of their Creature Cave. Mortals live swift lives, but they're fine at judging them by now; they can discuss this with her later.
They meant as they said, impulse though it was: they see no reason to bar Lethys without active danger. If he wants their trees to build, so he can have them. If he wishes to wage war, he will need to take more Land than this one, even if they leave it entirely. Even if he returns to the one he...may have came from?
Monzun made an offer there, as well. Although Lethys hadn't answered their line of questioning if that was his home, as the Land of warmth and the Guide's bones is theirs.
If it were, would it matter? He expected them to destroy it for only knowing it was there. He likely does still!
They dislike all this immensely.
But they are a god. Daunting odds and absolute confusion hasn't stopped them before.
Sweetheart wasn't upset with Lethys, Monzun's words about apology going over her head as much as the gods. The bone-itch feeling returned with talk of Nemesis, and her god isn't around to rein her in quite so close.
In the dark, she crosses boundaries of blue, shaking a few followers that don't follow Monzun from sleep, beholding her stepping over straw huts with panicked awe. Even with the eyes on her she doesn't greet them; it's been years since impressing people is something she's needed to do for more than fun, and she doesn't want to do anything like that right now.
A little way into the plains, she stops.
There was a Village here. It was Monzun's. It's nobody's, now, not even peoples' who trickled back to the green-roofed one their grandparents came from, meant to be a stopgap while they frantically reached for Lethys' last two Villages as well.
Well, almost nobody's. Sweetheart crouches and prods at the familiar-but-dilapidated ruins, and finds a surprise when from beneath the house bursts a wolf, very unhappy to have its den trifled with.
Her fur is too thick to even get a pinch at her skin when it tries to maul her finger. She lifts it curiously, considering whether toss it or not. Maybe eat it...? Predators are uncomfortably chewy, though. Fish and pigs are better.