"He exists here on my permission," Ingolsol said. "By my will, and with my backing, he shall remain here."
"You have no place here either, Ingolsol," another insisted.
"This part of me does," Ingolsol said. "And there is naught you can do to rid me of that right, despite your hostility."
A noise came, like the cawing of crows, as the Gods rose to a fever pitch and talked amongst each other in a language that Oliver could not understand. Talk and talk they did, and so many of them. There must have been hundreds in that realm. It was far vaster, and far more terrifying than Oliver thought he could ever realize.
Yet with Ingolsol there, it didn't feel quite so bad. It was like being in a crowd of people with a friend that he could trust. Someone that knew the ways of the locals, and swore to remain by his side, so that he would not get swept away.
"You," Ingolsol said to Oliver. "Apologise."
