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Water vapor thrums in the cooling afternoon air. You pluck at it - invoking condensation. Dew flashes onto the ground, snaking from the base of your shattered shrine to the darkening treeline beyond.
The trail catches the slanted sunlight magnificently. The child, blessed by youth, recognizes it as a path laid with intention rather than coincidence. She leaves the cover of your shrine, whispering sincere gratitude to the empty plinth where your form was once rendered in dark, unbroken stone.
You watch her until one of her...parents...picks her up, the two of them parting from your view as they enter the warmly-lit farmhouse.
You feel an echo of faint pride. It has been a very long time since you last answered a prayer.
>[DUSKWARD] - Look Duskward [Middle Left]. [-1 FAITH]
>[MEMORY] - Examine a faint memory. [-1 FAITH]
>[NOTHING] - The seasons pass. But you remain.
