It's clear that Lauralae is less concerned about her death - deaths, there have been more than one - than perhaps she should be. It does not weigh on her the same way it does other people, not when she has spent so long in worship to the God that she believed had control over such things. She does not think of the vial around her neck, the connection she has to Rav'ahm, the tenderness she feels. Why would she? It is not something that would occur to someone so removed from society.
"Many of us have died at least twice now. Once before we were reborn and a second time, in the Long Night, in the Pit where the dragon lay, in the wilderness... Death does not mean as much to us as it might the others of this world, far removed from what has touched us so." Perhaps Usir himself guides them, and that makes Lauralae feel a little more comfortable.
At the same time, she can understand the doubt and fear. She had felt it once, her own uncertainty, when her mother had been taken from her. Rationalising all that has been happening over the last handful of months is not the same as understanding it and she has to reconcile that. She does not think she will ever truly understand the plan this world has for her, but she accepts it, gleefully.
Slowly, her eyes turn to look at Rey properly, drinking her in. There's no pause nor hesitation when she speaks, voice soft, cool, measured. It's not quite emotionless, but as if she is trying to keep her own feelings tightly controlled.
"I did not know much of the dragons when I lived. I was not in the cities where they reigned, where people worshipped and were cowed. I knew only the forests and my own prayers." But, still. There's a weight in her bag now, a child ready to be born, and she has to breathe out hesitantly before she shakes her head. "I understand why people would have been afraid. They are always afraid of power, of danger, of things stronger than them. The dragons, I think, had that."
But, then, a shrug.
"Now it is humans with the power. Is that so different? Perhaps the dragons should not have such blame. If they live still perhaps some should be forgiven."
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"Many of us have died at least twice now. Once before we were reborn and a second time, in the Long Night, in the Pit where the dragon lay, in the wilderness... Death does not mean as much to us as it might the others of this world, far removed from what has touched us so." Perhaps Usir himself guides them, and that makes Lauralae feel a little more comfortable.
At the same time, she can understand the doubt and fear. She had felt it once, her own uncertainty, when her mother had been taken from her. Rationalising all that has been happening over the last handful of months is not the same as understanding it and she has to reconcile that. She does not think she will ever truly understand the plan this world has for her, but she accepts it, gleefully.
Slowly, her eyes turn to look at Rey properly, drinking her in. There's no pause nor hesitation when she speaks, voice soft, cool, measured. It's not quite emotionless, but as if she is trying to keep her own feelings tightly controlled.
"I did not know much of the dragons when I lived. I was not in the cities where they reigned, where people worshipped and were cowed. I knew only the forests and my own prayers." But, still. There's a weight in her bag now, a child ready to be born, and she has to breathe out hesitantly before she shakes her head. "I understand why people would have been afraid. They are always afraid of power, of danger, of things stronger than them. The dragons, I think, had that."
But, then, a shrug.
"Now it is humans with the power. Is that so different? Perhaps the dragons should not have such blame. If they live still perhaps some should be forgiven."