Onja tugged on Amar’s sleeve to stop him. “He truly fears what you have done,” she commented.
“He will get over it,” Amar said, unconcerned about Cybar’s opinion.
“The others truly fear this sky temple,” she said.
“The Gods are to be feared, Onja,” Amar replied matter-of-factly. “You are born. You die. The Gods are always there.”
She contemplated his simple words and then asked, “But you do not fear your Gods, Amar?”
Amar would have shrugged if he had not been burdened with a stinking half-dead man. “I do not care,” he said and continued toward Cybar.
Onja lingered in the sky temple and studied the faces carved in the stones. Their blank eyes now looked at her invitingly, welcoming her into their mysterious club.
So simple, she thought.
She set a hand on a monolith. The stone had been cut from the Rysamand and somehow the humans had dragged it up this butte. The effort that must have taken astounded her. So very strange that the humans would work so hard for something that benefited them not at all. Most of them lived in little huts and enjoyed no luxuries. Why did they not put their efforts toward making better shelters for everyone?
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