Iktome Plains zephyrus

When the wind finally died down (and to her, this meant that the anemoi had given up their game) Dianikos was at a loss. She felt horribly alone and adrift, at once.

Without the gods to push or pull her how would she know where to go? Where was she meant to be, at any rate, when she had wound up here within the underworld? A part of her expected to be recieved by someone; that she be tended to as the offering that she was. It was humility that she lacked. Where was the god she had been promised to? How could she know that her sisters thrived with her sacrifice, when none came to meet her?

Ah, but there, slinking quickly across the empty field, as if summoned by Dianikos' very thoughts! As she beheld the stranger a calm permeated her every inch; she had not been abandoned after all! This shade was here to be her guide, rather than the fickle wind spirits.

She stood in watch of them: this black-faced ghost, at once made of mist as well as shadow, with eyes too dark to see at first. The closer they got the more familiarly oceanic they appeared, and all of this Dianikos was glad to behold. It was within her power to speak — but it was not her right, as a shade herself now, and so she remained alert but silent.