"I am called Kaheksa," the interloper calmly agrees as Xarces begins to question her. "I left because my younger sister has gone insane, and begun perverting what we saw into a message of conquest and violence. I could not abide by that while the others we had recruited and taught agreed with her, so-" she shrugs. "I would heal, and I would give what knowledge I have. I would not take up a weapon or spell to hurt them any more than I would take up a weapon or spell to hurt you; violence... repels me."  Xarithe can detect nothing but honesty in the woman's voice, though her body language is... unnaturally still, making it a bit hard to get a read, as does her odd cadence. When he begins asking more directly about gifts and worship, Kaheksa seems to draw into herself, tensing. "His name will not be spoken or written," she says without evident emotion. "He is simply the Master. Even my sister does not presume further, and she imagines herself..." a sigh. "She believes herself a fit bride for the master, and dreams of delivering the world or a large chunk of it as her dowry. As I say, she is utterly mad. As for his gifts? They are different for each who takes him into their heart, but all deal with-" she pauses, and only now does Xarithe begin to sense discomfort and dissimulation, "-shapeshifting is a small part of it. Freedom- the ability to sculpt one's flesh into a better tool- those are both part of it. I do not think it is possible to pithily sum it up, nor would I be comfortable trying."<br/><br/>The last of the dryads clears out, and the woods are silent once more in the near pitch-black night.