Ocean's Breath Plateau the seeds are in your hands

the tall woman is even taller as she rises, pacing as she thinks aloud. it is such an abrupt change that nazli is momentarily concerned and tenses, but she tells herself there is no worry here; this is no angry mazoi, this is a girl who is experiencing the confusion of life and maturation, and probably not for the first time.

she lets a silence brew between them so racharra can pace and think and maybe find some calm, if possible—but she does answer soon enough.

is it something—i can help with? or, maybe we should ask the gods. she does not know how to help outright, and is growing a little bit worried for the nebet. maybe it is her place to pry? but it does not feel right. nazli must try, regardless of whatever assumed propriety she thinks she upholds.

we do not need to stand in the light to speak with them. come, sit with me?