buttermilk lilacs

The golden child, so different from the cold viking, seemed struck by her appearance for a moment before finally answering her question abashedly, though Katja saw nothing of shame in her answer. Why would it be shameful to wish to see things as they were in stories? Stories were... oh, yes, that was right. These non-believers told stories simply as entertainment, with no value to them past that. They knew not stories of the gods and races who reside in such places, but only foolish fictional tales of false heroes made up as bedtime stories. "An elder sister of mine did be injured here of late. I have not had sight nor word of her since. I did come here to remember, and to ask the gods to be with her." Her voice was grave, gold-flecked gaze fixed curiously on the brighter female. She seemed much too delicate and demure of manner for such adventuring, her accent even stranger than most here and speaking of a gentle heritage, but perhaps there was more to her than could be seen at first glance. "I do be Katja Finnvi," she added in answer to the girl's own introduction. "Tis not a safe place for a lady to be alone. Have you no family here?"

I won't be ignored

Time won't heal this damage anymore