Lament

"The Mother calls to us all, some are more attuned to hearing Her voice than others, but I get the sense that what you do is not exactly hearing in the same way that I would describe it." Rethayari fans her crest briefly in emphasis, questioning even though it was a statement. Harrow nods, the eyes along her wings blinking closed as she folds them to more comfortably settle in for the conversation. As they close, she opens the ones on her crest, practicing the conscious control more than anything else, but enjoying the strange look she gets at the motion.

"It does involve the use of my eyes more than my ears, but I believe that is expected with such a specific gift from the Mother. Compounding with what I could do before I became a Necromancer, I'm able to see almost a month into the future when I have the time to devote to looking. Sound does also play into it, but much less so than sight." Explaining it like that feels, correct, she supposes. She's never met anyone interested enough to ask about how it works before, and it is somehow cathartic.

The mirror nods, a deep look of focus overcoming her features. "That is fascinating. This far from the Tower, you don't find many Oracles, and even my auguries are not as accurate as that. It is certainly an unusual blessing, but you seem to have made it work well for yourself." The tone is light, maybe a little teasing, but it brings back the memories of what happened when Harrow first received the 'blessing' of her new eyes and the difficulties they brought. She digs her claws into the branch below her, reminding herself that no harm was meant, that she has triumphed over those things and they are behind her now.

She hums lightly, nodding a bit. "Yes, it's been very useful, both for myself and others." She has lost count of how many laboratory disasters she has averted with a swift warning in the months since she arrived to this clan. "In particular it helps with my Healing. I can easily determine what the illness is and how to treat it, even if I have not personally encountered it before."

At that, Rethayari laughs deep in her throat. "No wonder my uncle can't decide if he likes you or not. He prides himself on his custom strains, but you can get around them with ease. But you also have saved him a large amount of glassware and repair costs." Harrow shares the smile this time.

This clan - and the many Necromancers who dwell alongside it - are very different from those anywhere else. They don't care about her ill reputation or perceived failures, nor about the strangeness of her being and the many eyes she sports. What matters here is that she is, and that she contributes. It is not a thought that crosses her mind very often these days, but she cannot help thinking that this is always where she was meant to be.