And if one day she comes to you Drink deeply from her words so wise
How many times had she ascended this time-worn path, only to find nothing but cold stone and empty shrines awaiting her? Faithful she returned time and time again, never quite leaving with disappointment in her breast, but rather a weary and gradual relaxation of her hope for change, for resurrection of the past. She expected little else different in this new journey up to the Peak, hooves sounding sharp on the decaying stone, the taste of sage sharp on her tongue from the bushel on her tongue. Wordlessly, not yet sharing her quiet prayers, the silvery mare moved to the incense lighter, setting to embers the herbs held in her lips before she placed it on the dais before the shrines, watching the thick smoke lazily rise like a sooty ribbon before it dissipated into the frigid air. For a long moment she watched the sage smoulder, mulling over the words in her breast.
Would she pray? What would she pray for? She had home, she had herself, there was little use in praying for anything else so trivial. Would she pray for the gods' return? Finally, she simply bent her knees and settled before the altars of the gods, contenting herself with merely breathing in the scent of the sage and drawing her mind back to memory. It was, perhaps, enough that she had come, as she did frequently. Not always should one pray and ask for something of the gods, perhaps this was one of those times where she would simply listen, to relax in the remaining place of the gods and reminisce of times long past.
Though, after a spell, the silver mare rose slowly to her feet, bowing low to each of the shrines from time to dawn then day, to dusk then night and once more to time, whispering their names to the bitter air and smoky incense, offering no prayer yet instead her reverent devotion. Her ritual complete, Grainne turned and began tending to the shrine, sweeping away cobweb and dust, relighting candles and scraping dripped wax from the altars. Gentle and slow were her movements as she cared for the shrines of gods who were ever silent, a patient gradual pace that showed no signs of haste despite the growing hour. Finally, when the setting sun illuminated Vespera's shrine Grainne set aside her task and emptied the ashes of the once burning sage, standing before the shrines for a long moment in stillness and silence.
Many may have forgotten, may believe the gods myths, but she would never forget the radiance of divinity as immortality settled in her veins, the tears she had shed in awe of something greater than herself. Her sooty lips curled in faint amusement as she bowed her head one final time to the altars. Perhaps, then, that was the purpose of her immortality, a living monument and archive. It was not so bad of a fate, in truth.
Mikhael had never believed in gods. His mother had never whispered stories of righteous men to him as he drifted to sleep, or brought him before shrines erected for ancient deities to kneel and pray for good fortune. In the Islands, religion did not exist - at least, not from what he had known. If it did, it was concealed to the shadows, out of sight from prying eyes. Perhaps there might have been whispers, if he had paid close enough attention. But he found no purpose for religion, no need to bow his head in prayer.
Still, he would be a liar if he said he hadn't considered it before. After Evren birthed their daughter, their little girl with her mother's coat and a heart that didn't beat (how he wished it would), Mikhael was fraught with guilt and grief. It had felt as deep as the sea, as black as the night, as cold as the winter. It settled like ice in his veins, consuming his soul until there was nothing left but his sadness, a shell of a man that could not stop wondering what if. When he had exhausted all his what ifs, there was only one question left to ask: if life could be given so easily, and taken so easily, then what was one meant to do with the time in between? It was this question that almost made the nonbeliever bow to whatever gods might be looking down on him.
Alas, he did not. For there was no use in praying to a god he didn't believe in.
And now he couldn't help but wonder, was it better to pray to a god he didn't believe in - in order to better blend in with those around him - or to reject the faith that others seemed to embrace wholeheartedly? He had no answer. Perhaps, he thought, he might find this answer in the most obvious of places. And so he found himself at the temple of the gods. How ironic, he mused as he ambled up the winding mountain path, that a skeptic would find himself seeking out a temple. He wasn't sure what he intended to find here, what he hoped might be waiting for him.
Perhaps he should have expected that others might seek the same solace he did here on the peak. As he rounded the final corner, his sight settled upon the body of another. He stilled upon seeing her, head turned and good eye trained on her lithesome frame as she glided from shrine to shrine, sweeping away the dust and decay that had settled about them. She worked meticulously, tending to each altar as if it were her life's purpose. Maybe it was. He knew what it was like to hole oneself off from the world, seeking refuge in solitude. For a moment, he simply watched her, not wanting to impose on such a private affair. It was not until the last of the cobwebs had been cleared away that he stepped from his place, nickering a soft greeting to the ghost-woman.
"Hello." He greeted her brusquely, head bowed as he took another step into the carved-out clearing. "I hope I didn't interrupt your prayer."
And if one day she comes to you Drink deeply from her words so wise
She was not aware of the eyes of another upon her as she dutifully tended to the shrines, and if she had been aware... more than likely she would have simply ignored that presence, but as it was when the sound of a soft greeting came it nonetheless startled the mare, her head jerking up from it's reverent bow to whirl on the arrival. For a breath of a second she was poised, baited breath in surprise, before a soft exhale steamed in the cold air and her posture relaxed. However, his blunt tone set her ears back although her skulled face did not flicker from it's silent assessment of him. "Do you truly hope for something such as that? How nice it must be to be so carefree as to hope for trivial things." Her own words are brisk, tinted with the frosty cold of the winter air.
She knew not what had made him address her as a stranger in such a hard tone, but she held little patience for it in this most sacred of places. While it may very well be that no one was watching, it was the principle of it that had barbed her own tongue moreso than normal. "I was not praying, simply offering the gods my devotion and time as is their due." She turned to the altars, thoughtful for a long moment, before she addressed him without looking back at him. "What of you? Have you come to ask of them? Or to simply search for proof of their existence?" She reigned in the venom in her words, keeping them simply curious, though after a moment her skull turned to gaze at him questioningly, ears still flattened to her wavy mane.
Was he another 'supplicant' come to beg or demand of the gods in the type of arrogance only mortals could muster? Or was he a non-believer, and if so, why had he come to the shrines?
Her reaction surprised him, her frigid tone biting at his ears almost as harshly as the cold air around them. Had he been rude? Perhaps his tone had not been the most polite, he thought to himself, or perhaps this was truly not a good time. "It seems I've... offended you in some way, miss." He bowed his head again, and like a guilty colt in front of his mother - or a repentant sinner in front of his goddess - he spoke again, "Forgive me." The words fell from his lips, disappearing into the space between them. Her voice still carried a noticeable edge as she inquired of his intentions; suddenly, Mikhael felt uncomfortable, as if he didn't belong. He knew he didn't belong.
"Perhaps there is proof of their existence right in front of me," he replied. The words slipped from his tongue before he could think, before he could stop them. It seemed such an unusual thing for him to say; subtle and superficial flattery had never been his chosen method of conversation. Still, as he looked upon her at the shrine, he could not remember a time he had seen such a unique creature, be it at home or in his travels. Before he could make a complete fool of himself (perhaps some of his dignity could be saved yet), he spoke again, a true answer this time. "I didn't come for anything. Just to explore." It was the most honest reply he could give, the only one, really. Had he intentionally come here to seek solace at the shrines of the gods? No, of of course not. Did he come looking for proof of their existence? Perhaps, in some dark corner of his mind, he had hoped for such a thing.
But this seemed far better.
Finally, he moved, taking another tentative step into the hollowed-out mountain. The cloak around his shoulders fluttered gently with his movement, a hushed whisper in the silence of the shrine. Never before had he had a reason to learn the tales of gods and men, to come before their effigies and ask to be taught of their ways. But it seemed unwise to him to eke out a living in a home whose basic customs he could not even recite. Turning his eye from her, Mikhael took another step forward, hooves echoing against the unyielding stone around them.
"I am new to these lands - to Novus. I know little about the gods. Perhaps you would be willing to teach me?"
And if one day she comes to you Drink deeply from her words so wise
She was not a mare known for her gentle tongue and soft words(she was not truly a mare known for anything, honestly, save perhaps her mystery and solitary nature), moreso when she perceived an insult to her person or the Gods themselves, however even her temper softened and waned at his apparently heartfelt apology, laying flat the 'feathers' he had ruffled although her sharp eyes remained just so. At his flattery, they seemed to grow brighter, fiercer in their intensity as she studied him, and her voice was velvet sheathing a knife. "How right you are, though you do not know it." There was dry, twisted sarcasm in her words, a bitterness strung out from a measure of time. He moved smoothly past the flattery and she allowed it to drop as well, a soft scoff escaping her at his confession that he didn't really know what he was doing. Hopefully he at least knew where he was.
The witch watched him as he began to tentatively move further into the temple, and she made no move to bar his way as he explored. She didn't know why she felt so bitter, so caustic, moreso than she was normally, but she chose not to dwell on it as he spoke the magic words, words that (although he did not know it) softened her attitude towards him. "I do believe that is the wisest thing you have said to me thus-far." She drawled, flicking an ear as she looked to the effigies of the silent Gods she adored and worshiped, her thoughts slowly turning as she mulled over the request. How often was she asked for guidance anymore? How often did worshipers come to the shrines and to the mare who tended them and asked her for knowledge?
It was, she supposed, her own fault for keeping her silence and seclusion for so long.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, she turned to regard him once more, before inclining her head in a gentle gesture of acceptance. "Of course, I cannot teach you everything in a single day, but I will tell you enough that you do not appear a bumbling fool before the Gods and their few, devoted followers." Her words were still sharp, crisp, but the bite had been gentled in their deliverance. Grainne turned away from him, to face the statues before them. "You stand before the Altar of the Gods, and they are as follows;" she turned her head, starting with the God who began it all, "Tempus, the God of Time and Father of All. Then, from a union with a goddess unknown, he made three children." Her head turned to the blue-gold statue then. "Oriens, the God of the Dawn. He bade the sun to rise, and he was the most inquisitive of the Gods. Next," She moved to the statue of jagged gold, brilliant in the light, "is Solis, the God of the Day. It was his duty to keep the sun in the sky until such time as the day ebbs, where he would cast the sun on his sister," her head turned to the fourth statue, "Vespera, Lady of the Dusk. She would lay the sun to rest and bring on twilight, the final warning before Night falls."
She took a deep breath then, casting her gaze to the darkest statue, her voice soft, gentle, and a touch more reverent. "Then, there is Calligo, the Goddess of the Night. Tempus, in his wisdom, sought a balance to the powers of the Daytime and returned to Novus with Calligo, his solution and counter to the upset balance. And for a time, all was well." She lowered her head, regarding him. "That is the simplified description of the Gods, about as much as your standard equine shall know of their Court's patron deity and the deities of the other Courts.
