Vala Silverton
The last night in camp before Thundertree, Vala approaches Mosley as he sips the flask she gave him and sits beside him, smiling warmly, if a little distractedly.
"I appreciate your discretion in the woods, Vo’tha Samman [my trusted friend]. I find my divining to be…. Fickle as of late. I know many would be alarmed, but blood magic in itself is not an evil, just frightfully powerful. As with any weapon, it matters how you wield it and who pays the price."
"I wish you to know I would never use the blood of another. Even if I wanted to, it would not sing. It must be mine, drawn from the line of fate." She sighs a little. "To be honest, I do not even know if it works as it should, it simply feels better than doing nothing."
Mosley
Mosely listens gravely, and pauses a long while before replying. Finally, he says:
“Your secret’s safe with me, ma’am. I’ve heard tell of such things… can’t say I know much about it. Seems mighty painful and risky for something you don’t even know if it’s working. But as long as you’re not hurting anybody but yourself, I guess it’s your own business. Long as you’re careful.”
“You mind if I ask you a question about it, though?”
Vala Silverton
“I do try to be careful. I hope I won’t need it for long and if you ever feel I… misstep, I welcome your wisdom.
You can ask me anything, speak freely, friend.”
Mosley:
“When you say your blood sings: what does that mean exactly? Not trying to be nosy… I just hear things too, sometimes. Songs in the ground. Not the kind you hear with your ears—more like in your bones. Gives me a tickle in my feet, like there’s somewhere I’m supposed to be. Is it like that?”
Vala Silverton:
She frowns a little, surprised and trying to catch up. “It is something my Grandmere said when she taught me the ritual that demanded it. I always thought it was just a pretty way to wrap up something vulgar. Or perhaps brutal is a better way to put it. Much of the language of prophecy is just poor poetry, I find.
It is a strange coincidence though, perhaps too strange to ignore. And stranger still that it is not how I have come to know you.” She narrows her eyes, mind whirring as she thinks on what Mo said. “Your song… how fascinating. Felt and not heard, but you hold the fragment…”
“I suppose we’ll have to ferret it out as we go.” And she smiles at Mo like an old friend. “Regardless, I would love to further study what the fragment holds if you would accept my aid.”