xemself

The soft blue sky had the feel of a good omen. In Xir old age, the god moved slower every year; lingering in the shallows long after the last fish had been swallowed up by nets. Sometimes Xe stood still for days, in sight of the shore, as if Xe had not quite decided whether to beach Xemself for good. Let Xem only survive long enough to spawn a new god! Else Xir helpless people would be godless ans stranded in the haunted dryland where the dead cities slept. Where less kindly deities roamed.