The forest seems to hold its breath. Somehow, this Eldritch Doe gives off an air of ruling the land. The sparks and glimmers of the patches on her fur mirror the hues of the forest. When one of the flowers opens further, the patches on the doe's fur open too, or unfold, or spread.
I can't ask the doe this, not with our fate in abeyance. I also won't ask System. As well, no one speaks, either in the mind-link or out loud. No chatter. Keep quiet. Everyone is riveted to the doe and whatever she might say. Always mindful of perils, Dag hovers, eyeballing the doe with something suspiciously like respect.
Several more moments pass, turning into minutes. It could even be hours for all I know, although the fluffy egg of the sun stays fixed in the sky.
