For all that she hated the dead things that he carried, she had seen so many innocent things felled purposefully, the once-druid didn't have it in her heart to be unkind -- even to Ramesses. Her lips thinned into a thin line of blush, her diadem of hoarfrost dipping once in a jerky nod of mere confirmation. "Thank ye," she managed, though it felt she had to grit the words out, her tongue wishing to remain fixed in silence -- a protest of the fallen Prince's company and silent derision. "But I am just Aerin." She would not have any of this 'divine one' nonsense, nor would she entertain the notion of keeping a slave in any form or fashion.
The Priestess would rather destroy her enemies than stoop to needless violence and mindless cruelty.
"'ow 'as ze scraping been treating ye?" The feathered wisp asked him, with only the faintest twist of a smirk marring the smile she allowed to crawl across her lips like a spider on its webbing. "I take it ye mean to stay if'n ye 'ave dug a den fer yerself." Her preference regarding such a notion -- whether he stayed or went -- was carefully concealed in the light tone of her dulcets.
Her brow quirked in the faintest of tics but the ivory doe said nothing. Words were so often meaningless; only time would tell if the gilded royal would stay -- or if he truly proved useful to their brutish tribe. So far, he seemed to have only agitated several of his newfound comrades and perhaps piqued Kyn's ever-fluid interest. Aerin herself had done so once but Donav was a fickle-hearted man; Ramesses would soon lose his shiny appeal.
A genuine grin shifted her expression into something gleeful then, an ironic humor rising in her chest like a burst of repressed laughter -- only too excited to tell him the truth of it, knowing it would only disgruntle him further.
"I am ze 'igh Priestess," the sylph corrected him, not unkindly. "My 'usband is a Specialist; 'e aspires to stand beside me as 'igh Priest someday," she then added by way of explanation. "But my gods 'ad no place amongst ze Saints. Ve serve 'is gods together."
She was satiated by the flicker of irritation that crossed his features, his displeasure feeding some hidden rebellion in her that had long burned. Her smirk took on a satisfied hue before surprise flitted across her own wan countenance. She eyed the man with keen gunmetal. "Of ze Druids gods or of mine own?"
"Ze Druids 'ave long been destroyed an' scattered to ze vinds. I cannae imagine ye vould 'ave much use fer ze gods of ghosts," she mused softly to answer her own inquiry. "But zey vere a simple folk -- kind, I suppose. Zey believed in nature spirits -- in ze stars mainly."
"My 'usband's gods are 'arsher -- ze gods of Saints. Zey are called Nahuatl in 'is tongue -- our tongue now. Zey do nae bleed -- do nae suffer as ve do. An' so, zey require blood an' sacrifices fer zeir favor."
"Zere is Alom -- god of ze 'unt. Bolon Tzacab, god of storms an' wind, an' 'is brother -- Cabrakan, god of earthquakes. Bolon's wife is Chaac, goddess of rain and lightning. Ek Chuaj is god of warriors, 'ze black var chief'. Itzamna, 'is kin, is ze god of ze sun."
"Of most importance is Kukulcan, god of death, an' 'is vife Ix Tab, goddess of fallen sacrifices who guides lost souls to ze underworld -- Xibalba. "
"An' who is Ma'at to yer people?" The waif questioned with great care not to butcher the name in her strange affliction of speech, though she was just as reluctant to show the royal any interest. Perhaps he would say more and perhaps not, for now The Priestess was content to listen to whatever he shared as she settled on her pale haunches -- fighting against the tension that had worked its way betwixt them whenever she remembered who it was she was speaking to.