He traces a second shape. The Miracle comes to hand quickly; his worshippers are well looked-after at the moment, for whatever respite Monzun seems to be affording Lethys.
Occasionally mortal men have one advantage over their gods. Being able to glare scornfully at each other is a merit Lethys would like to borrow in this instance. Instead, Sweetheart is treated to a short, irritable silence before Lethys speeds off after the wolf, a trail of disdainful purplish-blue following behind.
He is not the sentimental type, but some things one does because it is just... the way of things. Lethys hovers low over the still-fleeing wolf and drops the warm glow of a Heal onto its body. He lingers only long enough to be sure any injuries are gone, whether from a clumsy Leopard's paws or from its own attempts to escape or from the last tumble to the ground. Then without any wasted time he turns and hunts down Sweetheart, wherever she may have gotten to.
Humans spin each other tales of places where certain beasts of the earth are stronger, bigger, wilder, healthier, more formidable: as if by the Land itself, or as though the very tracks they leave lay claim to the place... and other such nonsense. There had been many tales like those, once, and Lethys had seen no shame in encouraging them, in playing along. Not the case here. Beasts are few, now. The land is not as healthy as it was. Certainly Lethys' forests cannot support such large predators. Hence the makeshift den.
But old habits, and all. There is still the way of things.
Where has that gigantic Leopard gotten to, now? He was only away for a moment.
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Occasionally mortal men have one advantage over their gods. Being able to glare scornfully at each other is a merit Lethys would like to borrow in this instance. Instead, Sweetheart is treated to a short, irritable silence before Lethys speeds off after the wolf, a trail of disdainful purplish-blue following behind.
He is not the sentimental type, but some things one does because it is just... the way of things. Lethys hovers low over the still-fleeing wolf and drops the warm glow of a Heal onto its body. He lingers only long enough to be sure any injuries are gone, whether from a clumsy Leopard's paws or from its own attempts to escape or from the last tumble to the ground. Then without any wasted time he turns and hunts down Sweetheart, wherever she may have gotten to.
Humans spin each other tales of places where certain beasts of the earth are stronger, bigger, wilder, healthier, more formidable: as if by the Land itself, or as though the very tracks they leave lay claim to the place... and other such nonsense. There had been many tales like those, once, and Lethys had seen no shame in encouraging them, in playing along. Not the case here. Beasts are few, now. The land is not as healthy as it was. Certainly Lethys' forests cannot support such large predators. Hence the makeshift den.
But old habits, and all. There is still the way of things.
Where has that gigantic Leopard gotten to, now? He was only away for a moment.