Arrow Lake danse macabre

How could He listen only for a time? Hemera stood above the man, her gaze flickering to the edge of her vision; sister Periane lingered there. Doubt clung to her like a shadow, much as it had before, but she had found her way back to the light. Hemera would not press her now. There would be time for that later.

„Every misstep is a lesson,”  she murmured, stepping closer, head inclined in quiet reverence. She listened, unwavering, never once interrupting. Plum eyes traced the scars carved into his muzzle, each one whispering a tale of hardship. He was a wounded man, one who had called out in his darkest hour only to be met with silence. It was a familiar sorrow. She had known it once.

Still, she pushed the thought away and lowered herself before him, folding her legs beneath her, tucking her tail close. This was not merely her God; it was everyone's God. At least, in her eyes. „He does not turn away. He does not forsake. He gives us the chance to rise, to make right what has been broken.” Her gaze lifted to the storm-brushed sky, a paw reaching toward the heavens. „The fire is His might, His reckoning. And you-” she paused, voice steady, unwavering. „You were reborn in the flames.” She exhaled softly, bringing her gaze back to him, her expression gentle now. Something about him, this warrior, this man who carried war in his bones and doubt in his soul, drew her in.

„Tell me your name, Warrior.” His battle was far from over. But if there was faith still left in him, she would see to it that he won this one.