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“Not in depth, no. But I know enough. Who you are, on the surface at least.” The bare bones; because she has no doubt that there are untold depths to the god floating on her roof. That has nothing to do with his godhood and everything to do with who he is. “I know your eyes. Have seen your Mark burned upon his hand.”
She can understand some of Daud’s frustration with his god, now, as well. Although she supposes you don’t need tact when you’re godly. (Or perhaps he’s simply never been around anyone long enough to remember what exactly it is.)
“With Daud? Yes. I do. I know what he’s done. Who he was.” Was. Was. A very important distinction that she doesn’t know if the Outsider sees. Noticed in his Chosen. (But he must have noticed something. He’s here, isn’t he.) Let alone understands. “I know who he is, as well. Who he’s becoming. Who he’s trying terribly hard to be.” She tilts her head, gazing up at Daud’s god with brilliant blue-grey eyes. Holding his gaze easily. “He’s better than he thinks he is. The man he was wouldn’t have cared for the broken young women he met upon a bridge late at night. Wouldn’t have concerned himself with a war of the gods. Wouldn’t have done quite a lot of things.” Wouldn’t have been so terribly torn apart by the one time he’d taken part in the arena.
“So yes. I understand exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” Spoken with certainty. Her faith in Daud has never wavered. Will never waver. (She has more faith in him than she has in herself, most days.)
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She can understand some of Daud’s frustration with his god, now, as well. Although she supposes you don’t need tact when you’re godly. (Or perhaps he’s simply never been around anyone long enough to remember what exactly it is.)
“With Daud? Yes. I do. I know what he’s done. Who he was.” Was. Was. A very important distinction that she doesn’t know if the Outsider sees. Noticed in his Chosen. (But he must have noticed something. He’s here, isn’t he.) Let alone understands. “I know who he is, as well. Who he’s becoming. Who he’s trying terribly hard to be.” She tilts her head, gazing up at Daud’s god with brilliant blue-grey eyes. Holding his gaze easily. “He’s better than he thinks he is. The man he was wouldn’t have cared for the broken young women he met upon a bridge late at night. Wouldn’t have concerned himself with a war of the gods. Wouldn’t have done quite a lot of things.” Wouldn’t have been so terribly torn apart by the one time he’d taken part in the arena.
“So yes. I understand exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” Spoken with certainty. Her faith in Daud has never wavered. Will never waver. (She has more faith in him than she has in herself, most days.)