boots on the ground

Mythra doesn't ever really think about the future; about having to carry things forward. She just does as she does, whims as she will, and acts principally to preserve her own prerogative.

And then Minoth has the gall to live, and stay. To be up there, on the surface of Alrest, just biding his limitless time.

If Mythra thought of anything, for five hundred years, it certainly wasn't the long-loped cowboy, pacing about the planetary enclosure.

But he's always been there. If she didn't have a photographic memory, he might even complete her.

Kinda irritating, isn't it? Kinda...really nice.