Christa
Mr Bones held his hands up, attempting to cut off Deirbhile. 

"No, I'm not a death god. I'm not a god of death or killing or anything like that. I'm a god *Of* The dead. There's a large difference. However I am one of the oldest gods, yes. As for showing you around I haven't been throughout the garden a terribly large amount myself. I suppose I could show you around the rest of the tree, perhaps bring you to a couple of lands. Are you able to survive without any air? I'm afraid that my land doesn't have much."
Joseph
"Right, I'm sorry. Would you care to tell me what that difference is? I don't quite understand," Her birdsong voice, so full of curiosity and innocence, felt strange for even her to hear. How could one be so innocent as she sounded? Was she unwittingly lying each time she spoke? It had to be odd, being less than a few hours old and already having an existential crisis.

"I would much appreciate if you did show me around," And she paused to ponder the question of whether or not she could survive without air. She did not know. "I am unsure. Perhaps, but perhaps not. That isn't a very good answer, I'm sorry."
Christa
"It's a rather simple difference when you get down to it. A god of death could be in charge of ensuring mortals die or perhaps is in charge of ferrying souls to their respective afterlifes. A god of the dead meanwhile is in charge of looking after the dead. Once everyone settles down and all business is taken care of, I imagine that I will have far less time to wander around talking to strangers."

Mr Bones leaned back a bit, drumming his fingers against leg bones.

"Well I suppose that I could always bring you to my realm, quickly save you if you feel like you're dying. Or I could attempt to give you a small bubble of air but then we won't know if you need air or not."