SHE FOLLOWS HIM SILENTLY, OBSERVING THE KING. HE CARRIES THE FEMUR OF THE TERRIBLE ELDER TERYR, A GIFT FOR THE GODS. THE GOD. SHE KNOWS, WITHOUT HIM HAVING TO TELL HER. SHE KNOWS BECAUSE SHE IS DRAWN TO THE GOD OF THE SUN AS WELL. SO SHE FOLLOWS HER NEW COMMANDER, THE PAINTED BATTLED-TESTED STALLION WITH HIS WRETCHED SMELLING CARGO. FEATHERS KEEP HER ALOFT ABOVE HIM, LISTENING TO HIS WORDS TO SOLIS. AS HE FINISHES, HIS CROWN BOWED, EYES LOWERED, SHE DESCENDS, ALIGHTING JUST BEHIND HIM. SHE LIMPS TOWARD HIM, PUTTING A DELICATE WEIGHT ON HER INJURED LIMB. SCABS FORM OVER HER LONG GASH AS HER HIDE DESPERATELY TRIES TO HEAL.
SHE SPREADS HER WINGS OUT GLORIOUSLY, FANNING THEM ON VENEROR PEAK BEFORE THE GODS. SHE IS HERE AS A LOYAL SUPPLICANT, THOUGH SHE DOES FEEL SLIGHTLY BETRAYED BY THE GOD FOR NOT PROTECTING HER BETTER. STILL, SHE REMAINS. PERHAPS IT IS JUST A TEST OF HER LOYALTY, OF HER COURAGE. DO THE GODS NOT SET TRIALS BEFORE THEIR PEOPLE, TO TEST THEIR WORTHINESS? OF COURSE THIS IS THE ANSWER, AND SHE HAS BEEN FOOLISH FOR THINKING OTHERWISE. SHE, TOO, BOWS NEXT TO MAXENCE, OFFERING HERSELF AS A SERVANT OF HIS. "Bless us with your grace, guidance, and power, for we are your loyal followers, your devout supplicants." BUT UNLIKE MAXENCE, SHE LIFTS HER CROWN SKYWARD, ORBS LIFTING TO THE HEAVENS. FOR SHE IS HIS PROPHETESS.
