[center][color=7ea7d8][b][h1][i][b]S[/b] o l i a[/i][/h1][/b][/color][/center]
[right][hr][color=gray][b]Windward Island[/b]
Port Harbor, The Sunken Shephard
[@SunsetWanderer][/color][hr][/right]

Solia considered the rest of the tavern as Evander asked his questions. With Bron’s speech concluded, many of the diver patrons seemed to be dispersing from the pavilion, and regathering in a march towards the docks. She waited just a few moments longer before rising herself, and letting Evander take the lead onward—partially for the slowness of her steps. Even still, it was a few moments more before she’d answer, an awkwardness that did not escape her, but was all the same unavoidable. 

What could she say to him? Could she bare to this stranger the true reason for her arrival here? Admit to him that the tides had washed her ashore as thoughtlessly as driftwood? No, certainly not, but all the same it seemed unfair to mislead him. 

[i]’It isn’t the time.’[/i] She assured herself. [i]’That is all.’[/i]

When she did break her silence, it was with a glance to either side. Her voice was quiet, and again she measured her words carefully. 

[color=7ea7d8]“I believe…fate, could be thanked, in part. Fate, and the wind.”[/color]

She might have left it there, had she not immediately doubted the answer anyway. It donned on her then that no one had ever asked her [i]why[/i] she helped people. In fact she doubted any angel or golem had been asked such a question before. No one asked ships [i]why[/i] they sailed, nor fish why they swam, or the sun why it set. They simply did. It was nature. 

That did not seem to her like a satisfactory answer either, though. 

[color=7ea7d8]“The wind…”[/color] she began again, less tempered and more recovering. [color=7ea7d8]“Carries sound quite…[i]naturally[/i]. And I believe no sound carries as swiftly or as potently as desperation. I suppose you could say I am attuned to it. I heard Windward Island’s call. I answered.”[/color]

Sufficient, perhaps, though she dared not dwell on it much longer, lest this answer became incomprehensible to her as well. She opted instead to hurry past it.

[color=7ea7d8]“But you—“[/color] she went on. [color=7ea7d8]“A former diver, now helming the ship of a…conman, you mentioned? I find myself caught between wondering why you’ve been above the waves for so long, and what drives a northlander to be as far away from his home waters as Mother Ocean can possibly allow. You seem eager enough to dive again, so I don’t imagine you’ve any lack for skill or nerve. It is a curious thing—”[/color]

She stopped herself, realizing her eyes had turned back to the ground in contemplation of her own questions. She felt silly. 

[color=7ea7d8]“I’m sorry, I believe I might have begun to ramble. I don’t mean to overstep with my questions. Especially after you…”[/color] She drifted, recalling that, when people were lost for direction as she was, they often coughed, or grunted. She could perhaps mimic these sounds, but without lungs they would likely have fallen flat. [color=7ea7d8]“After your own…[i]generous[/i] questions.[/color]