Larksong Grotto white fog

he follows. he is not sure why.
though his gaze did not leave the space around them. he watched the way the light caught the edges of the cavern, how the water traced slow, glistening paths down the stone. his ear flicked at the sound of her laughter, a sound too soft for the world he knew.
he did not reply immediately, only letting her words settle between them as she walked ahead. priestesses of the earth.
his mother had spoken of such things once, in whispers over dying embers, in prayers murmured to the stars when she thought he was asleep. the old ways. the ones that had been buried beneath war, beneath blood.
elders think they know best, he finally murmured, scanning the cavern walls, the path ahead. he moved with the instinct of a man who had spent too long expecting danger. not all of them do.
still, he walked with her. wariness did not keep him from listening.