Gwendyn often had a habit of unintentionally insulting humans and Kalab was glad to hear Nehmahati speak for herself. Had he answered for her, the King would have likely continued to think of her as any other human, nothing more important, if marginally more entertaining, than a pet. â€œAs my dear heart says, Your Grace,â€ Kalab said with frosty politeness. It brought the hint of a wry smile to the unseelie king.<br/><br/>â€œGodwood path, Laeneth. Straight and fast as you can,â€ he told the silver. They skirted the clearing. No sidhe liked the place they termed the hold grove, the two horse-shaped nix no different in that. Neither spoke, perhaps thinking of the changes it might mean if the demon had been telling the truth. Doubtless they had heard enough of it to know things could be sudden and no sidhe liked the outside to change too quickly, or at all if they could have helped it.<br/><br/>Now the demon would be sure to know where they were heading. To a place Kalab still considered home. Where old ones dwelled and quarrels were settled. The ancient godwood where any of the little ones could come and speak with their gods, through the sect of priests almost as old as the oldest tree. Some â€“ not many anymore â€“ were even older than Kalab.<br/><br/>There were places sacred even to what humans considered hellish monsters and Kalab hoped that nothing had intruded and changed the rules. And he knew that the demon had lied for Nehmahatiâ€™s benefit. With an agreement not even a year old, ink hardly dried, Kalab wouldnâ€™t put it past Zhorrsh. He didnâ€™t trust that one to keep his word for any longer than it suited him.<br/><br/>Heâ€™d fought against the decision every step of the way. But what had that mattered? The demon god had offered assistance against the immediate danger of Ellonâ€™s machinations and Kalab was a mere thoughtful princeling among more powerful forces. It had rankled then as it did now.<br/><br/>The pace set was far too fast for casual conversation, no matter that Kalab wanted to have the opportunity to explain the situation as he saw it. She would find out the situation soon enough. Perhaps even from someone with more information than he had.<br/><br/>When they stopped, there was a gate. A token gesture to the encroachment of the modern world, but the fence went only a few meters before it tapered off, shorter and shorter, to the ground. He slid to the ground and laid a hand on the nix-horseâ€™s shoulder in thanks. Asking Nehmahati, â€œDo you remember the way?â€ Hoping that she would still somehow hold that memory of how to navigate the woods and fretting to himself that she wouldnâ€™t.