Bramblepoint diortosire

Hemera watched the water swirl around Towhee’s paw, the liquid darkened by traces of red. The rippling current carried away what was lost, yet something always remained beneath. A quiet metaphor, perhaps, for their conversation.
At the inquiry, her gaze drifted for a moment, thoughtful, distant; before she returned to the present. A soft smile ghosted her lips, careful, measured, „I seek to build a home,” she admitted, though her words did not reach beyond the surface, “A place for those who believe, for the devout. But as your own path, it is still… uncertain.”
She did not offer more. Not yet. Some things were not meant to be spoken until they took shape beneath the heavens. „Then I pray he succeeds to reclaim it.”