[Her tail, although a little less intense, is still swiping over the ground, thankfulness cemented. With a drawn out whimper to convey the same, she gingerly hooks the wrist of one leg over his arm when he does finally go in to pet her.
But when he offers his hand for her to paw an answer, she falters herself, staring at it in consideration. Yes, she'd like so much if other people understood her through her name, but this might be impossible. Amaterasu isn't known here. It's a name without weight to those who have learned it. And she's still convinced that people have to come to know her on their own volition. This is why she's voiceless to man's ears, isn't it? Because if she could state to them, matter-of-factly, that she's Amaterasu, the Mother of All That Is, they'd scoff. They'd laugh. They'd sneer. They'd say the expression she's overheard that goes: "That's rich."
It's why when those without faith begin to find faith anew she glimmers before them, they start to see her, because they're believing, because they want to see her. It's reliant on faith, all of it, and not because she demands it of them, but because by their choosing and their own circumstances, they've chosen to be brought before her. Ren could see the mirror spinning in holy fire on her back, he may have guessed the name Amaterasu even before the point he spoke up, none of it is coincidence. He saw her plainly, and then he found her.
So, she doesn't touch pads of paw to palm at all. Not once, or twice. She's torn, but inwardly, silently, not giving up. Even if they never come to comprehend who and what she is, that's all right. Many of them talk to her, they share food with her, they open their hearts to her. And even if she isn't always granted opportunity to make one small thing in their life easier, she can at least remain present as a companion for them, who holds no judgement, who doesn't interrupt. Sometimes, this is all people need.]
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But when he offers his hand for her to paw an answer, she falters herself, staring at it in consideration. Yes, she'd like so much if other people understood her through her name, but this might be impossible. Amaterasu isn't known here. It's a name without weight to those who have learned it. And she's still convinced that people have to come to know her on their own volition. This is why she's voiceless to man's ears, isn't it? Because if she could state to them, matter-of-factly, that she's Amaterasu, the Mother of All That Is, they'd scoff. They'd laugh. They'd sneer. They'd say the expression she's overheard that goes: "That's rich."
It's why when those without faith begin to find faith anew she glimmers before them, they start to see her, because they're believing, because they want to see her. It's reliant on faith, all of it, and not because she demands it of them, but because by their choosing and their own circumstances, they've chosen to be brought before her. Ren could see the mirror spinning in holy fire on her back, he may have guessed the name Amaterasu even before the point he spoke up, none of it is coincidence. He saw her plainly, and then he found her.
So, she doesn't touch pads of paw to palm at all. Not once, or twice. She's torn, but inwardly, silently, not giving up. Even if they never come to comprehend who and what she is, that's all right. Many of them talk to her, they share food with her, they open their hearts to her. And even if she isn't always granted opportunity to make one small thing in their life easier, she can at least remain present as a companion for them, who holds no judgement, who doesn't interrupt. Sometimes, this is all people need.]