Whitefish River into your heart, into your soul

Our many gods coexist.

The wind picked up as he said this. The sound of it whistled sharply over the water and its force broke off a sheet of ice along the riverbed, sending it downstream several yards before sinking the frozen plank entirely. He was speaking of his pack, but to Exousia it almost seemed like a generalized statement. It certainly applied; regardless of how he had meant it.

Too many gods in one place rarely bodes well for the devout. Too much it divides the attention. No one is ever satisfied. Especially not the gods. It was best to serve just one, if any were going to be served at all. I believe the only way a religion can flourish is to bring up the young in it and pray that they do not stray. But there will always be those who lose faith in the unproven. It is the way of things.

It was not a life for most. Not even for her, not anymore. Exousia had found herself to be more reliable, more knowable than any god she knew. There was no need to abide by a truth other than that. Who are your gods? she asked, curious. Why do you follow them?