Hoshor Plains made simple intricate paper bloom bleed red

Eventually. An oddly fitting answer, she thinks, for a man who seems bound up in vagueities, either wittingly or not. It is also an answer that suits her, for she carries the same tendencies towards mystery (unwittingly or not). "When is eventually," she muses, asking him, "or perhaps where?" For her the answer is, right now, a white-worn priestess on a mountain, but the implications in that are too tightly bound for her to unravel. At least not yet.