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Farlyn held its sword steadfast as it made its way along inside the temple.
The mosaic flooring was spilled with black and white, the substance seeping into the cracks of the tile and being disgustingly slimy.
It thought it fitting, honestly, that this place was filled with the affliction this land faced. This was a place of worship, once. A temple to a god, a temple for said god to be worshiped in, but now it was but a husk of what it once was, what it could be.
Of course, Farlyn didn’t know exactly what god this temple was for, as the statues that were still mostly complete were just of the crown so far. The paint had long since faded, but the overgrowth of bloody fountain water made it clear it likely had to do with life or death or something of that nature. If it was War, it would’ve seen spider statues, which are very recognizable.
It paused suddenly, ear flicking as its eyes narrowed at the cloaked figure ahead, past the arch into what seemed to be a ballroom or something of the sort.
Farlyn made its steps audible, and was quietly surprised when the long eared figure did not move to turn and attack. Likely not overtaken, then.
Steps slowing slightly, the lamb looked at what this person was looking at, blinking.
T’was a statue of rock, stone, and some bits of marble fused together and then chipped away to create an image. Two god-like figures stood, one much taller than the other, and they held each other close, drenched in simulated robes as the moonlight from the open sky shined down upon it. It was beautiful.
This statue was not without cracks, cracks and destruction. The cradling arms of the figures were distinctly empty, whatever had been held in them taken long ago. However, Farlyn knew this statue was not one of worship persay, but of a celebration.
The celebration of a newborn.
The faces were hard to distinguish, covered in the substance from before and scratched to all hells, but…
It looked to the other person, noting the long ears, cat-like face, three eyes and grief yet love filled expression.
…
It didn’t know The Traveller had been married. To a lamb, no less.
Farlyn rummaged in its pocket, remembering something.
Placing the camellia flower on the floor in front of the statue, it kneeled in the silence, unsurprised when The Traveller joined it.
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.
A grieving person does not owe explanation to a stranger.