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"Where did you learn?" Hadrian leans in with his elbows over his knees to peek at her work. "Your craft, I mean. You didn't just take it up from your grandmother."

Salina stops mixing the green paste to slowly raise her head at Hadrian. Candle-light dances on the whites of her eyes and glints off the relief of her scars.

Hadrian, almost uncharacteristically, doesn't heed the warning of her stare. He doubles down. "I wasn't sure before, but, uh. I had my guesses. But now this" — He gestures to the stacks of dry herbs above your heads. "— this confirms it."

Hadrian's words have a weight to them. You realize there's more to what he isn't saying than what little he is.

You cannot see Salina's expression. "Pain and suffering are the kiss of God," she speaks, the tone lower than a whisper and filled with something you can't yet name.

*(if Low Religion)

The words make no sense, but Hadrian seems to have found his answer. He nods and settles back down, face grave, but you spy a pleased twinkle in his eyes.

1) "Hadrian?" you ask, puzzled. "You understood that?"

2) You click your tongue. "Someone mind filling me in? Or is speaking in riddles the new craze?"

3) You say nothing.

4) "The hell does that mean?" you gruff out.

5) You laugh. "Then the Lord can keep His lips to Himself."

- - -

The group is ready. Lance is at the door, blue hair clinging to his wet forehead. Alessa is right behind, scowling at the sky, and Hadrian rests his wrist on the pommel of his sword as he watches the awakened market.

The bard's eyes meet yours. "Coming?"

You would. The problem is, you told a golden-haired guard that you'd meet her at a secluded garden.

-

*if Clues true

And she has a lot to answer to.

*if Clues false

And you're already late.

*choice

1) "Go ahead," you say, keeping back. "I've got a promise to upkeep."

2) Vallen be damned. "Yes," you answer, moving to follow. "Let's go."