Wheeling Gull Isle and all around, reminders of you are everywhere i go

He was staying—that was good. There had been so much impermanence in her life that faces staying around, even if only a few of them, was a boost to her psyche. She smiled, and then let the expression linger at his question, though it grew a little watery.

Both? I. . .grew up in a very religious family, but I've left that faith behind, Maegi told him. I was being groomed to take over as Listener—that's the head priestess—but things happened, and I had to leave home. And when I came back, the pack had fallen apart, and everything had changed.

It was a good thing, though. Well, mostly. Her face grew solemn as she thought of the voiceless Relmyna, the usual mourning pang rising to the surface. But beyond her death, the death of the old Woods had ceased prayers to the daedra—at least within those woods. And without that ending, she may not have found the truth. May not have found Jaes.

Maegi looked at Aiolos, but he might think she looked beyond him. . .and he would be right, somewhat. Her focus had been snatched by the past. I worship a new god, Jaes. Much like the god I was named for. Peryite: the lord of the damned and of pestilence. But Jaes is lord of all, with a particular fondness toward those who are broken or twisted, young and defenseless.

She supposed she was a priestess, then, of Jaes. And a scholar, for much like an elephant, she never forgot. And you? she asked, canting her head, a little loath to leave the subject of her lord behind but curious as to his nature. What role do you prefer to play?