Duskfire Glacier jimmy, you should switch it up

he arrived as he always did—steady, unhurried, with that ever-present weight of command in his stance. the call had pulled him from his duties, and while he had not come with urgency, he had come all the same.
when his eyes fell upon what she had built, his brow lifted.
what is this?
there was no irritation, nor scorn, but there was something else—a curiosity laced with something heavier.
his gaze flickered across the mound, the haphazard construction of sticks and stones, the careful placement of feathers. it was crude, yes, but it was deliberate. it had meaning.
his eyes found her next, the gleam in her gaze betraying her amusement, her satisfaction.
you make shrines now? the words rumbled from his chest, low and unreadable. he stepped closer, circling the altar with a slow, assessing glance, before his gaze returned to her.
and what does your god think of me?