Branches on a tree

Modesty toed the western border where the swampland met the shrine. As tempting as it was to just waltz on in, after all, she was family, and family was everything. But like branches on a tree, they had grown in different directions. Regardless of their shared roots, there were expectations now she was grown. This was not a social call, and she didn’t have time to get caught up in petty pissing contest ‘this is my dirt’ drama.

Besides, she hadn’t seen her brother since the long night, and there had been many changes, he might not even recognise her. She still carried her quills, but now her ears were tufted and more feline in appearance, her fur had grown long and flowing and horns had sprouted atop her head, and she didn’t smell of sacred oils anymore. Now, she smelled of the sea.

Modesty tipped back her head and called for Pontifex, sure anyone might answer but he was probably the best placed to help her in her hour of need. Her invitation was open if anyone else wished to check her out, she wasn’t here for trouble, she had just lost something terribly dear, and hoped they might have a lead to help her find it.

“Speech.”