[With a few simple words, Amos dismisses the faith of her entire nation, the belief system of countless humans in her world on account that he has been to the stars, traveled that High Plain. Something warrior monks had died for, debated each other for, studied countless foreign sutras and carved statues for... something priests prayed for, built shrines for...
And he just calls it bullshit, so casually and so simply that Hayame... has to laugh. She can't actually laugh very well, not right now, not like the jilted, barking sound he'd heard over communion when he'd told her about Vern, the sound cut off prematurely because she was shocked by the rare sound of it. This time, she doesn't have the breath for it. The sound dies... but it had existed. Her lips had tried to twist into something like a smile.]
I never believed in them...
[But that's past tense. She has met gods here. They are just as fickle and powerful and damnably unknowable as she might have thought. Even having sworn her service to one... the idea that she could pray to him for help, that he might, say, come to save her now... ?
She tries to laugh again. A sadder note this time, that gives way to practicality. The person here who could and maybe would help her, to... an extent, an Oracle-minded selfish extent not so unlike that god she thought of... was Amos. Her teeth dig in to her lip, and she uses the hand not clinging to him to support to brace herself further on a nearby rock.]
If you could... splint it-
[It would be advantageous to him, as much as it burns. It wouldn't make her any more able to pursue him, but it would potentially keep her conscious and working longer, better.]
Normally I carry... bandages, but.
[The Exalt Oracle had robbed them of all but one of their possessions before bringing them to this bizarre place in this ridiculous size. She'd tried stripping a plant for something that would substitute, yet had not yet found something that fit. Typical. What did that leave them with... ? She wore an underlayer, she could forfeit her robe...]
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And he just calls it bullshit, so casually and so simply that Hayame... has to laugh. She can't actually laugh very well, not right now, not like the jilted, barking sound he'd heard over communion when he'd told her about Vern, the sound cut off prematurely because she was shocked by the rare sound of it. This time, she doesn't have the breath for it. The sound dies... but it had existed. Her lips had tried to twist into something like a smile.]
I never believed in them...
[But that's past tense. She has met gods here. They are just as fickle and powerful and damnably unknowable as she might have thought. Even having sworn her service to one... the idea that she could pray to him for help, that he might, say, come to save her now... ?
She tries to laugh again. A sadder note this time, that gives way to practicality. The person here who could and maybe would help her, to... an extent, an Oracle-minded selfish extent not so unlike that god she thought of... was Amos. Her teeth dig in to her lip, and she uses the hand not clinging to him to support to brace herself further on a nearby rock.]
If you could... splint it-
[It would be advantageous to him, as much as it burns. It wouldn't make her any more able to pursue him, but it would potentially keep her conscious and working longer, better.]
Normally I carry... bandages, but.
[The Exalt Oracle had robbed them of all but one of their possessions before bringing them to this bizarre place in this ridiculous size. She'd tried stripping a plant for something that would substitute, yet had not yet found something that fit. Typical. What did that leave them with... ? She wore an underlayer, she could forfeit her robe...]