The priest watched the two travelers from on high, hidden openly in a small batch of pine trees. He made no effort to conceal himself behind them — and yet he did not worry about being seen. He was only seen, only sensed when he wished to be.
The one he’d been watching had become two. This was a turn that he had not expected — but one never truly knew the fate one followed, even when they followed it with certainty. Even when that fate itself was a certainty. So he accepted the turn with a whisper of thanks, turned westward. It was carried on a high gust of wind, sending the trees dancing gently around him.
He waited for a response. The air settled for a while, letting the sounds of the surrounding world settle upon him. So many thought this world was horrid, and broken, and terrible to behold. But he knew the truth of it — there was beauty everywhere. Even in the blood-red Krellid Wastes of the south, even in the blasted and unknowable vastness of the Shapeless Lands in the far north, there was beauty, if only you stopped for a while and listened for it. Here, birds sang in the distance, and the winds made a strange, ethereal symphony of sorts as they buffeted the steep cliffs, and below, the two travelers made soft, easy conversation that the priest could just barely hear.
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And after a short while, there was a response. A gentle wind, from the far west, and a quiet message within it. He listened intently.
“You are right as always, old friend.” The wind picked up, a quick gust that carried upwards past the tree tops and into the high open above, taking bits of leaf and grass along with it.
The two travelers below were now crossing over the hill, almost out of sight. But never far away. Such little things as distances were no trouble to the priest anymore.
“The Dark has tried to intervene,” the watcher said. “As it always does.”
The response was unperturbed. But then again, he had never known his old friend to be perturbed by anything.
“You are right, of course. The fate of all will come to pass. As it always has, and always must.”
He smiled, looking toward the distant sun, feeling the warmth on his face. What freedom it was, to be on the path of destiny, to know its truth and its certainty, and yet to not know its shape. The freedom of the unknown, and the comfort of certainty.
The two below were on their own paths, though they did not know it. Paths now intertwined, for however long. Hurtling towards destiny as surely as water running downhill. The watcher would be there, when it took shape. And he would do what he needed, following flow, listening to the words of his old friend, to help them reach it.