Blackfeather Woods where order is wild

she remarks that she was taught that mephala is the night mother; and wintersbane chalks it up as his mistake ( because it is tori's ). "i think my confusion stems from the fact that some call her mephala and others just 'the night mother' so i assumed they were two different daedra." he explains with a sheepish twist of his lips. now, he thinks, he knows different. now, he's been corrected and it's not a mistake he'll make again. she continues on and he welcomes it, trying not to pay mind to the burn of humiliation at his mistake as it settles beneath the dark fur of his cheeks.

she speaks of a god of pestilence and disease with such pride that wintersbane is disarmed for a moment. vanity has always been a driving sin of his and he can't imagine why anyone would want to be named for such a god. disease ravaged the mind and the body. but he looks to her again, eyes assessing, seeing her disfigurement and wondering if it was why she was named so. the tundrian doesn't comment because to each their own. "is it ever daunting to be named after a god?" he inquires out of curiosity. he is not named for any deity and while he thinks it might be a constant pressure to be named after something holy he doesn't actually know. perhaps it's a name like any other name. only a burden if it's made into one.

"i'd greatly appreciate any help you're willing to give." the delta confesses, head lowering in a demure bow of appreciation. the movement is brief but earnest nevertheless. it's been some time since he'd learned anything other than new battle tactics or medicines to treat wounds on-the-go; and despite how daunting religion seemed wintersbane was eager to rise to the challenge.