”And you have opened your flames to me, despite knowing where I hail from.”
She sat with discomfort. Despite the whipping winds outside, she had no desire to steer herself closer to the impossibly billowing flames of a structure long thought dead.
Sejuani did not chase rumor. Nor a milk maid’s tale, nor words spilled from a roarous drunkard’s lips. Yet one way, or another, she found herself in the presence of just such; a rumor, the breath of truth blowing into the forge’s flames, solid and present before her very eyes.
She was not new to witnessing forgery. The seamlessness in which he moved, however, ensnared her attention raptly.
”I came here alone for a reason. You are an Old God of my lands. I will not take from you. But legend says nothing of what you desire as payment for your forgery.”