SKILL: ORATOR (5/5)

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Hestia walked slow beside him, her steps quiet through the leaves. The air had that kind of stillness that only comes when the woods are half asleep, the sound of their paws crunching over old leaves, the faint gurgle of water somewhere up ahead. She smiled a little at his comment, the corner of her mouth quirking up like she’d heard that kind of thing before.

Yeah, she said softly, eyes flicking toward the treeline. It’s beautiful, but… it can get lonely too. The kind of quiet that makes your own thoughts loud. She let out a small laugh, almost under her breath. You get used to it after a while.

When he asked if she’d lived here long, she took her time answering. There wasn’t really a right way to explain it, not without sounding like she’d lost her mind or been around longer than she should’ve been. The truth felt too big for a question like that anyways for how long does a fallen god measure time? A while, she said finally, voice warm but vague. Long enough to know the rivers used to run a little different.

Her eyes caught the fading light when she looked back at him, the faintest hint of amusement there. He reminds me of the mortals I used to love, she thought quietly, with that strange ache she’d never quite gotten rid of. Always wandering, always searching for something they can’t name. You sound like someone still figuring out where his feet fit in this world. How long have you been here?

She turned her head back toward the sound of the stream, her voice a little quieter now. World’s big, you know? No one really knows what to do with it at first.

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Skill - Heartbroken

His ears flicked, and Nate tilted his head a little, appraising her with the squint of a man looking directly into the sun. The end of day was caught behind his fur, though, haloing an otherwise shadowed face.

This one's really aiming to channel her namesake. He thought. Blinked. And decided not to ask the first question that sprang to mind at her philosophizing.

Instead he answered, Well, not quite as long as you — sounds like.

He turned his nose forward, staring off at something distant, Truth be told, I never really minded not knowing. Sometimes I think it's better that way.

A shrug, Not sure what I'd do with myself if I ever looked up at the stars and realized I had nothin' to ask 'em. That bit between the question and the answer? He smiled at her, the distance in his eyes not impeding the tired warmth of his gesture, Hard to be lonely, there, Ma'am.

Yeah. If Nate hadn't known he was dead, he might still be looking for a way back to Eleanore. All he had now was the cold, brutal certainty that none of his dreams would come true.

His lip quirked. Still the smile, but like it weighed heavier on him to offer the thing. He chuckled, and said like a tease, The answer's never been much good to me.

SKILL: SEER (1/5)

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Hestia slowed her steps just a little, letting his words settle between them like falling leaves. The last stretch of daylight caught along her shoulders, warm gold bleeding into pale cream, and she glanced his way with a softness that never quite dimmed — even when she saw the tired look tucked behind his smile.

You’re not wrong, she said quietly, her tone gentle but threaded with something older, something lived-in. There’s a comfort in questions. They keep you moving. Keep you curious. Her gaze drifted up through the branches where a few stubborn leaves still clung, glowing orange in the fading light. Mortals always looked to the sky for answers, she remembered, an echo tugging at her chest. Even when the heavens never gave them any.

But there’s also a danger in pretending you don’t want the answers, she added, her voice softening even more. Sometimes we convince ourselves we prefer the wondering… because the truth feels heavier than the not-knowing.

She didn’t look at him when she said it, though she felt his meaning as clearly as the cold creeping through the forest. Dreams that die quietly. Hopes folded small. A man who carries grief like it’s stitched into his skin.

Her steps stayed easy, unhurried. Lonely or not, that space between question and answer? she murmured, You don’t have to sit in it by yourself. She tilted her head, offering him the faintest, warmest smile — the kind that didn’t push, only welcomed. You’re walking beside someone now, even if it’s just for the night.

The trees opened ahead of them to reveal a break in the undergrowth, the sound of the stream clearer now — water running over stones, steady and familiar. She motioned toward it with a small flick of her muzzle. There’s our water, she said. Cold, but clean. And a little patch of dry earth near the roots there — perfect for a warm nest to sleep in.

Then she looked at him fully, her robin-blue eyes gentle but knowing, like she could see past what he said into whatever he wasn’t saying. You know, she went on, her voice low and warm, answers aren’t the enemy. It’s the fear of what they might change.

Her tail brushed lightly behind her, almost an absent gesture. And if the answers you’ve been given haven’t been kind to you… she let out a breath, thoughtful, maybe you just asked the wrong sky.

---

Each gentle word clawed him like a mountain cat, and Nate held his breath against the urgency of concealed wounds she seemed to have stripped the bandages from and left to bleed in the open. He felt exposed. Weak. Frightened, in a way he didn't want to show, so he smiled. Maybe he could convince her she was mistaken if he held fast to familiar gestures.

But she'd done it effortlessly!

A sign of his own frailty, no doubt. Nate had a lot of practice turning deaf ears to words spoken against him over the years. Some had even been well-meaning, and no less cruel. People who'd never seen him, not really. Just the shape of a man they put all their own expectations over. He preferred giving them the mask. Sometimes they'd even respect it, because it was braver than the real him. Better than the real him.

But Hestia seemed to have taken one look and understood the true source of Nate's cowardice more keenly than his own Father ever had.

As a tyke, he might have been brought to tears. They'd beat that out of him young, and he certainly wouldn't do it for a stranger, a woman besides. She didn't need more confirmation of his failures.

She was wrong on only a single count — he did need to walk it alone. He'd felt the cost of trying, otherwise. Alone, he could wander and weep freely, bringing shame to no one, inviting judgement from nobody who had the power to truly hurt him, seeking solace in things like stars and the calls of owls and the stillness of moonlit snow which would never belong to him and so could never be lost forever.

Nate was too mannerly to argue outright; he only nodded, and took his time considering an answer that would redeem him as a wise man — not some frightened boy.

There didn't seem to be one. So he was glad when they reached the stream, and content to leave the trading of philosophy behind for more practical attentions.

Apparently, though, Hestia hadn't finished dismantling him.

Maybe you just asked the wrong sky.

Quiet for a long moment, long enough to be rude, long enough to be an answer in and of itself, Nate failed utterly to let her words pass through him. He swallowed through another held breath, glancing away. If he spoke honestly, and told her the truth of his estimation on the subject, he would fall prey to the very thing she'd accused him of — an avoidance of reality, a knowing how things were and a refusal to accept it.

But she teased him with hope, too! He didn't know what to make of that. As if the answer to all his faults and failures could be hidden behind the acceptance of them. The world wasn't so kind to half-breeds. Star-crossed for him had always meant having no true Polaris to follow.

Nate made himself smile, still, and cleared his throat to affirm politely, Maybe you're right, Ma'am. Then looked over her hearth, Lovely spot you've found, here. I appreciate the hospitality. I'll ah, clean myself off at the stream and make myself more presentable, if you don't mind?

---

You broke him LMAOOOO

SKILL: SEER (2/5)

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Hestia didn’t miss the way he went quiet. She didn’t press him for an answer, didn’t tilt her head or try to peer deeper into that pause, she simply let it happen, the way one lets a wound breathe before it’s touched. She could feel the shift in him, though. The way her words had landed somewhere tender. Too tender, she realized, a small ache blooming in her chest.

He’s spent a long time being told to swallow his own softness, she thought. And an even longer time believing he deserves to.

So when he finally spoke — polite and measured with the neat stitching of a man trying to hold himself together — she only offered him a warm, steady smile. It wasn't triumphant or knowing. Just… gentle.

Take your time, she said, her voice softer now, like she’d lowered the flame inside herself on purpose. The water’s cold, but it’ll wake you up a bit. And don’t worry about being ‘presentable’. You’re not offending anyone. A tiny spark of humor warmed the words, barely-there but true.

While he stepped away toward the stream, she settled near the spot where a fire might sit, brushing a few dry leaves aside and arranging stones with a practiced ease. Her movements were calm, steady and purposeful. The kind that didn’t demand anything of him. The kind that let him breathe.

He thinks walking alone spares others from his hurt, she mused, her paw resting briefly against the earth. But loneliness has teeth. And he’s been feeding it for a long, long time.

She raised her head when she heard him move, her robin-blue eyes catching the last traces of twilight. And Nate? she added, voice carrying just enough warmth to reach him but not enough to trap him. You don’t have to agree with me. I don’t expect you to.

A small, almost secret smile tugged at her lips.

But it’s alright to hope for something kinder than what you’ve known. Even if it feels foolish.

She turned back to the fire pit, beginning to rub crushed herbs into a some left over elk meat she hunted prior. Go on, she murmured, wash up. I’ll have supper ready by the time you’re back.

There was no insistence in her tone, only an invitation, steady and warm, like a hearth left open for a weary traveler to return to if he chose to.

---

He wouldn't mind the cold, but he hummed a fragile laugh at her words — which almost certainly weren't a joke. Thank you, Ma'am.

Tipping his head to her, Nate made himself walk down to the water. A wayward heart thrashed violently at such restraint. It occurred to him he easily might vanish into the night from here. Appetite lost, dignity in jeopardy, maybe it would be easier for the both of them.

Because even if Hestia intended well, the idea of being anything other than a guest that gave more than he took left Nate nauseous. Prying a meal off her was bold enough. He wouldn't take assurances otherwise for anything but mannered pleasantry.

Big paws slipped into frigid shallows. Nate grimaced. Persisted. Waded out as deep as he could.

The way he saw it, there were two possibilities here.

Maybe she meant what she said (for now), and had some willingness to extend patience to a man who'd shown a little too much boy in himself to be polite.

But patience had limits. He knew from experience. Hestia was a stranger, and where those limits were he couldn't begin to anticipate, so he preferred not to test them at all.

The other? She was talking sweet to get his guard down, and would deal a worse blow, later. Maybe not even on purpose. He'd known preachers like that — all their favorite hymns something or the other about equality and the salvation of sparrows. Kindness enough to draw in a weary soul. Then at the pulpit to sing a different tune — where some were more equal than others, and cruelty came by Divine decree. No mercy in their hearts, after all.

He supposed he still believed in a God, most days. Opinionated men who spent all their time trying to define the will of a being said to be beyond mortal understanding, weren't the sort of folk he would concede faith to. But it was hard to believe he'd earned anything but ire or indifference. Nate had spent a lot of nights praying for better days. He'd started to think Eleanore was his answer. Now he was dead, in a place that didn't rightly seem to belong to heaven, hell or purgatory.

And a she-wolf named Hestia was offering him a meal, and telling him to hold out for hope! Nate laughed again. What else was he supposed to do?

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In the end, he came back.

Smells mighty fine, Ma'am. He said, a picture of only a mannerly and grateful guest.

SKILL: SKILL NAME (1/5)

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Hestia lifted her head when he came back into view, her attention shifting to him without any hurry. There was no fire to be had and no matter how hard she tried, the spark of a hearth was beyond her. Instead, there was just the quiet clearing, the sound of the stream behind him, and the scent of food she’d set aside beneath a broad root to keep it cool. She watched him for a moment, taking in the careful way he held himself, the practiced politeness settling back into place like armor.

I’m glad it does, she said softly when he spoke, her voice warm but unassuming. I was hoping it wouldn’t turn your stomach after the water. There was the faintest hint of a smile in her tone.

She nudged the bundle closer with her paw, an unspoken invitation rather than a command for him to join her. It’s nothing fancy, she went on, as if that mattered, but it’ll take the edge off the hunger. You look like you could use that much, at least.

Then she settled back onto her haunches, giving him space to choose where to sit and how close to come. Eat, Hestia said simply.

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