Ignorance was a grace many people fell to, a mercy when the knowledge was as damning as the reality that filtered through Virgil’s sickly hues between the things her sight allowed her. There was the sand under her feet, a gritty texture that aired a miasma of a slumbering beast under it. The land and the gods that toiled inside of it hungering, silent for so long now once again hungry in the presence of their ardent’s promise of blood. There were the strangers who never saw the results from the war: rotting bodies were a deterrent to a few, but it was a symbol: nothing past the borders were ever truly alive: Walking beasts of the damned who denied the inevitable.

Being unproven was a damned fate here: there were no ways to save oneself beyond sinking blood into the sands and honoring the old ancient rite of gaining the favor of the gods. Virgil felt the time ticking on her even, the grace given by her age was short: as beings of power had little patience for ignorance.

(they shrieked, they wept: Virgil felt her own mortal flesh shiver under the thrall of it)

Silent’s voice cut through, and Virgil felt a a rictus grin slither onto her maw. Long tongue licking out of her maw in a grotesque display of her own amusement. He questioned her- and it was sweeny that came to the rescue of his own ignorance: cutting into it with a fire that sparkled in Virgil’s mouth in aftertaste: Sweeny’s displeasure was so sweet on her tongue. She wondered what kind of misery taste like on them: but such were not socially acceptable, not even here- no?

“You’ll only understand when it’s too late” Virgil expressed, in a fervent tone as she almost leaped towards the other- stopping just shy of them as she inhaled his sweet scent: such life enriched in his aura that Virgil focused on: even if he wished to join- until the ardent spoke he was free reign- correct? Just a small taste: a sample would not hurt anyone- would it? “you wouldn’t be the first panther who thought themselves better than us, nor the first who died for that folly.” Virgil hushed out, retreating to enjoy the shade under the ardent’s shadow, a quick glance up towards the gaping chest cavity in the sacrifice, she looked back towards widowmemer, her tail practically wagging. if he wished she could show him the skull: it stood in the center of the Sacrifice's temple. As all previous leaders, if they did not die for this clan they meant nothing. hollow bones like the story carved on them- meaningless

“you haven’t proven yourself yet,” Virgil hummed out, hoping to cut through the arrogance: the ignorance that she fould feel along the other’s form. Such thoughts that she could feel would die quickly here, or his spirit would be consumed by the vapid god that claimed arrogance it’s follower. It was the way. “until blood is shed, walking in this border will mean nothing: remember that.” A reference to the rites of the land, or the gods Virgil wholly believed in: was still unsure.