"Not that I'm aware of. But sometimes gods don't always appear in pairs, especially at the same time. Sometimes you have to wait it out."

There isn't much more she can offer besides hope, a soft hope, that perhaps it just bad timing, perhaps Life is young, still striving, still finding itself. She'd been born into her role, but not all are. Some create it. Some find it. Some chose it because they hate sand. She pats his hand and with it, a butterfly forms, light and soft, lighting on his wrist.