[ At the mention of prayer, Nash looks up. It's an old reflex, born of years in the temple, and years before that being told to bow his head. The night is no help, and the trees are thick enough to obscure the stars. Nash is a church man, but not holy, and his gods have only given him orders, never advice. Here, in this place, without magic, the powers of his faith were surely distant— if they'd ever been there at all.
After a moment, he turns to look at her. ]
You remind me of someone, you know. [ All this talk about loneliness and duty. It was a speech that did a number on him once before. ]
You would loathe her. [ He smiles, but not in good humor. ] But she is absolutely unforgettable.
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After a moment, he turns to look at her. ]
You remind me of someone, you know. [ All this talk about loneliness and duty. It was a speech that did a number on him once before. ]
You would loathe her. [ He smiles, but not in good humor. ] But she is absolutely unforgettable.