Urna cocked her head, trying to puzzle out what unspoken question the lion was getting at. A cool, creeping feeling began to congeal within her. "You've been to Duskorna." It was neither question nor accusation. "I don't know what they told you, but—" She made a scathing noise. "The gods fought directly, once. Not much survives from that time except tales of their destruction." Her red eyes flicked up to meet Matthias' gold. "I've never seen Ohr in action personally, no." She shook her neck out. "Probably some shit with, like, leaves and vines and branches. Trees getting up and fighting. A swarm of a million bees out of nowhere. Use your imagination."
"The gods here keep out of the way for our sakes. They don't intervene often." Urna wasn't sure if that had been a hope or a concern, but best to be honest about it anyways. "If I were choosing a home, I'd worry more about the people living in it, and what they do for the sake of their god."
Urna had planned to leave it there, had already half-turned to go, but in idly considering her own answer, a sudden wave of conviction struck her. "Violence is the easy answer," she blurted. "It feels good, feels decisive. But the wounds it leaves are slow to heal."
"I chose Ohr's path because nurturing is harder. We make things here. We look to the future." She'd seen Verdantis more fully than ever before, at the meeting. There had been children there: kits and cubs and pups who would grow up learning to cultivate and protect.
"Tsillah looks at mortals, sees those that are weak, and says, 'cut them out.' Ohr looks at those same mortals and says, 'can you make them strong?'"
Can you be strong for her? The voice that rang in Urna's mind wasn't Ohr's.
"I've lived according to both." Why was she telling him this? What made it so important? She couldn't say, but being a shaman meant committing honestly to the feelings that moved you, and she let the words flow, cathartic and true. "And the part of my life that would have made Tsillah proud? Was the part that cost me everything." The final syllables came out in a bitter snarl.
Breathing hard, Urna straightened again and dipped her head in a dismissal to the traveler. "I wish you luck in your search," she said curtly, and turned to go.
"The gods here keep out of the way for our sakes. They don't intervene often." Urna wasn't sure if that had been a hope or a concern, but best to be honest about it anyways. "If I were choosing a home, I'd worry more about the people living in it, and what they do for the sake of their god."
Urna had planned to leave it there, had already half-turned to go, but in idly considering her own answer, a sudden wave of conviction struck her. "Violence is the easy answer," she blurted. "It feels good, feels decisive. But the wounds it leaves are slow to heal."
"I chose Ohr's path because nurturing is harder. We make things here. We look to the future." She'd seen Verdantis more fully than ever before, at the meeting. There had been children there: kits and cubs and pups who would grow up learning to cultivate and protect.
"Tsillah looks at mortals, sees those that are weak, and says, 'cut them out.' Ohr looks at those same mortals and says, 'can you make them strong?'"
Can you be strong for her? The voice that rang in Urna's mind wasn't Ohr's.
"I've lived according to both." Why was she telling him this? What made it so important? She couldn't say, but being a shaman meant committing honestly to the feelings that moved you, and she let the words flow, cathartic and true. "And the part of my life that would have made Tsillah proud? Was the part that cost me everything." The final syllables came out in a bitter snarl.
Breathing hard, Urna straightened again and dipped her head in a dismissal to the traveler. "I wish you luck in your search," she said curtly, and turned to go.