#spidrsilk

"---but you look just like a ram. And I used to help my dad handle rams and sheep on the farm back when... there was still a farm to speak of."

-> Their amused expression falters a bit at the memory that had not been so tender until it was dug up. They're sure they would have the skill to do it now as an adult, perhaps even more efficiently now that they have grown into their strength and limbs. They try to brush it off; smooth out the watery-eyed, upset feeling that always bubbles up when they think about what they have lost and coat it in plaster, paint it over with a casual, mischievous tone.

her eye twitches - tearing her gaze away from the map she'd scrawled across to slowly straighten herself, red, red eyes falling upon i'mbrose. the absolute is surely blessed; to love her own people as much she loves the night warden - to rid them of the bindings of lolth and show them the way; the true way. her way. perhaps the stench and chaos of the goblins was a test - one that minthara baenre, wayward daughter, was all too eager to pass in her ascent to the top of her most faithful. the light here burns - it has to. it must. the absolute's love does too; humming away in her skull as a cold hand reaches between them; the air rippling as minthara presses in - practiced. unkind, but not brutal when she enters the recesses of his mind; an image of them both, his own capable mind offering assistance she needs without the fumblings of goblins - serving in the name of a god who would rebuild the world. come here.