She nods, hovering on that taken in breathe, once her fingers are clean, she takes up the washcloth that had been given to her as well to let it soak in. Dropping it with a splash, turning it over to soak it through before she lifts it to squeeze off the excess water. Her wet, clean fingers move up to her hair, to push it out of her way as she begins at her neck, in slow strokes, beginning to clean the muck away.
"I did not know it then, but he was 900 years old."
She has heard his own people talk of Gods and Magic, the dismissive tone of any theism, and it had not bothered her. For them, it was a question of faith - but there was no faith when she knew such things. Such seemingly impossible thing. Perhaps now, after all these years, the way she could so easily laugh off the questions about her Gods being real. "He had fought in the days of King Arthur, and when others took up an eternal fight in England, he had left, to wander the world. Until the summer of that year, he walked into my husband's court."
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"I did not know it then, but he was 900 years old."
She has heard his own people talk of Gods and Magic, the dismissive tone of any theism, and it had not bothered her. For them, it was a question of faith - but there was no faith when she knew such things. Such seemingly impossible thing. Perhaps now, after all these years, the way she could so easily laugh off the questions about her Gods being real. "He had fought in the days of King Arthur, and when others took up an eternal fight in England, he had left, to wander the world. Until the summer of that year, he walked into my husband's court."