#eh i don't think this'll be an au or anything

[scribblestatic]

I like the idea of a Narinder that steadily chills out after indoctrination.

Like, of course, the first few days are rough because he's getting used to existing and experiencing life outside of Limbo for the first time in thousands of years. Noises startle him sometimes and maybe the morning sunlight is a bit too bright.

Moreover, his wounds, given to him by the chains that wrapped around him, take a while to stop weeping; to heal and scab over. He was also very unhealthy from his confinement, and so he's quite weak for the first few days.

But as he acclimates, he comes to really enjoy living in the cult.

It's peaceful. Gardening is easy and he quite likes the smell of fresh dirt and growing plants. The mixed fish meal is just another name for ambrosia. The Lamb is actually quite good at playing the drums for the occasional bonfire dance, the beat thrumming in his chest. The grass feels so nice between his toes.

Although thin and gangly before, his old fur sheds out, growing in new, darker, and gleaming with health. His body fills in, and from his increased toiling in the fields, his arms and legs thicken with suitable muscle and protective fat. His tail, once ratty, grows long, fluffy fur.

Narinder becomes incredibly handsome.

Though, having been the god of death for so long, still maintaining his immortality since the Lamb saw fit not to slay him, he still has his senses.

He uses it in his gardening to identify dying plants and finding a way to keep it healthy enough to flourish. Hell, if he focuses enough, whatever remnants of power are still in him allow him to restore life to the plant.

But it's not always fun. After all, he can sense when an elder is nearing the end of their life. After a while of living on the cult, he goes to sit with them, even if he never really spoke to them before. Apparently, his or the Lamb's presence makes death easier for them, and if the Lamb is off gathering supplies, he takes the mantle. Sometimes the Lamb resurrects them, but sometimes the elder requests to die, to rest. Lamb grants them that without complaint.

Narinder watches their souls fade, leaving to seep into the great beyond he's never, in his thousands of years, come to understand in full. It's likely no one ever would.

Regardless, despite not being the most talkative, and often casting an intimidating shadow, Narinder becomes quite beloved in the cult, like a cryptid who somehow dwells in the sunlight. The silent farmer who Lamb dotes on to newer additions to the cult, whether born or found, and the former god of death relieved of his suffering to those who witnessed the Lamb give him mercy.

When he's not farming or eating, you can find him at the Lamb's side, wearing his acolyte cloak, long, fluffy tail curled near or around one of the Lamb's ankles. He leans on the Lamb at times, putting his head on their shoulder as the sheep reaches up to pet him.

Right. Isolation in Limbo. Incredibly touch-starved.

And the Lamb smells very good. Better than anything else.

When he's high on mushrooms, sometimes he'll dutifully groom the Lamb or just knead their wool with his three eyes blown wide, perhaps with his third eyelids peeking at the edges if he's also sleepy.

Of course, he's still caustic. When he's angry, he's incredibly so. He will turn away from company with harsh, short words, but somehow look on with a sense of longing after receiving the space he requested. He snarks at the Lamb about rituals and godhood...but he never once says the Lamb is bad at it. No.

If there's one thing he won't say, it's that the Lamb is bad at godhood.

After all, he's living quite nicely.