91st of Summer, 514 AV
The concept being explained was a difficult one to grasp and, as usual, left both parties feeting frustration and defeat. The Ethaefal, for her part, was a difficult "child" to tend to. The Svefra for his was a man who mistrusted what any god aside from Laviku threw at him. It was their point of contention.
It made religious matters increasingly difficult.
"Why do we sacrifice?" Yra's question was repeated, earning the dourest glare from her guardian. She'd have withered under the expression if she were a flower. However, she looked at Calin with a doe-eyed innocence that reminded him strongly of his sister, when they'd been younger. If his sister had a face seemingly sculpted from stone, that was. Even as he looked at this Svefra pretender, he'd seen the barest glimmer of rose that flushed across the upturned face, and he'd not understood why the sun goddess couldn't at least give this lost creature a more human guise to carry.
After a long moment of glaring, he noted it important to answer her and impart at least this bit of knowledge to her. In Fratava, for he spoke Common simply in single words, he explained; "we sacrifice so that the Sea might deem us worthy."
Her eyes, a colour that most had pointed out was a strange combination of honey and orange, widened. Rose lips parted as she drew in breath.
"Are Svefra not-" Here, the Ethaefal gestured. The word he'd just used, worthy, applied to this situation, but it was not the word she sought. "Are they not fit?" The substitution was poor. A smile turned Calin's lips. It was not an expression offered often, if at all, and it surprised the woman.
"Laviku still deserves our honour," he said.
Before she could respond, he had taken her arm. They stood together at the bulwark, a blade clutched in the hand not on her. Trepidation flourished within the woman. Pain was anticipated. Sacrifice required pain, and she knew it best.
Syna was always watching, after all.
"Laviku, lord and father, we offer our blood and hope for safe journey." Calin was mirrored by Eilin, aboard her own casinor not twenty metres from the dock, from her twin.
The blade dipped into the flesh of Yra's hand first, slicing across her palm and eliciting a gasp. Calin, in silence, repeated the action for himself. Although Yra cradled her wounded hand close, he held his over the bulward, over the sea, and looked back at her. She caught on and mimicked the action, allowing her blood to drip languidly into the water.
It made religious matters increasingly difficult.
"Why do we sacrifice?" Yra's question was repeated, earning the dourest glare from her guardian. She'd have withered under the expression if she were a flower. However, she looked at Calin with a doe-eyed innocence that reminded him strongly of his sister, when they'd been younger. If his sister had a face seemingly sculpted from stone, that was. Even as he looked at this Svefra pretender, he'd seen the barest glimmer of rose that flushed across the upturned face, and he'd not understood why the sun goddess couldn't at least give this lost creature a more human guise to carry.
After a long moment of glaring, he noted it important to answer her and impart at least this bit of knowledge to her. In Fratava, for he spoke Common simply in single words, he explained; "we sacrifice so that the Sea might deem us worthy."
Her eyes, a colour that most had pointed out was a strange combination of honey and orange, widened. Rose lips parted as she drew in breath.
"Are Svefra not-" Here, the Ethaefal gestured. The word he'd just used, worthy, applied to this situation, but it was not the word she sought. "Are they not fit?" The substitution was poor. A smile turned Calin's lips. It was not an expression offered often, if at all, and it surprised the woman.
"Laviku still deserves our honour," he said.
Before she could respond, he had taken her arm. They stood together at the bulwark, a blade clutched in the hand not on her. Trepidation flourished within the woman. Pain was anticipated. Sacrifice required pain, and she knew it best.
Syna was always watching, after all.
"Laviku, lord and father, we offer our blood and hope for safe journey." Calin was mirrored by Eilin, aboard her own casinor not twenty metres from the dock, from her twin.
The blade dipped into the flesh of Yra's hand first, slicing across her palm and eliciting a gasp. Calin, in silence, repeated the action for himself. Although Yra cradled her wounded hand close, he held his over the bulward, over the sea, and looked back at her. She caught on and mimicked the action, allowing her blood to drip languidly into the water.
