Blackfeather Woods Sleep is a little Death.

She did not know what she expected from Maegi. Perhaps tears at the verbalization. Or anger. But there was only cold acceptance in the bi-colored eyes before Potema was left alone in the Temple.

She should have realized that she had given her children every right to kill her. The days she ignored their pathetic squalls for milk. The nights she left them alone in the cold. They had every right from her actions. But what of the words that their relatives would have whispered in their ears? What did Vaati say? Or Ganon before he left? What did Cicero say?

Wolves hate the things they fear. And Potema feared her children. They had overcome their deformities and become stronger because of them. Even if she did not give them love and teach them, they had many others who would. Maegi was already learning of the Gods they worshipped. She brought a sacrifice here. Could she too hear the whispers of the Gods around them? Could she feel the weakness in the veil? The cold of the Void?

Potema turned to the altar, the tall stone now feeling foreboding rather than comforting. Issi pōnta ñuha qilōnarion? She whispered to the voices. Kessa ao ivestragī zirȳ ossēnagon nyke? Kessa jān naejot se void lēda muña? Her voice caught, sliding into a desperate begging tone. She sobbed for a moment. Eman issare daorun yn pazavor naejot ao! The witch's voice raised into a shriek. Ossēnagon Cicero, daor nyke.

The stone remained silent. The voices were muted whispers, just the same as before. Nothing changed. Potema stared at the glowing structure, pleading, but there was no response.

She left.