The Gaze That Does Not Linger

Talua was sitting on the river's edge near her shrine, feet in the water when she felt it. The forest seemed to lean to the west, as if reacting to a presence. Turning her head, she saw him striding along the river bank. His antlers caught the sunlight, along with a crown of branches no mortal could have ever shaped. No twig snapped at his approach, and no plant bent from his step.

The Raven King. She knew him like the roots knew the soil. A God greater than anything she could imagine, more powerful by orders beyond counting. A God of everything this valley was made from.

"My lord," she whispered, bowing her head. But no response came.

He did not look at her. He did not look at the shrine, or the bowls of offerings, or the humans who gawked in wonder. He walked on, eyes fixed forward, as if searching for something. The birds sang brighter in his wake, and the deer emerged to follow him, fearless.

Talua felt her cheeks burn. To be recognised by Death had made her proud. But to be ignored by Nature himself, it made her feel small in a way she could not name. Was this a test? Why did he not even glance in her direction? Was she that unimportant?

For days afterwards, the valley seemed calmer. The animals rested, and deer started to visit her shrine. But his dismissal gnawed at her. She would show him, she decided. She would be a God worth acknowledging the next time he came. What that meant, she did not know yet, but she would.