The godspring chamber is almost completely empty except for a young woman filling up a jug of water.
"What... is the work that they do...? I only know that they love people."
"So people pay to... touch them? And they can keep doing it after they're dwindled—but not take new ones—so touching someone new is where the cost happens?"
"I will definitely not touch any redmages!"
"I don't think I would like being known like that unless I knew the person who knew me."
"Maybe if I meet one I get along with."
(But she's pretty sure she won't.)
So around they go, giving white- and redmages a lot of space. There are houses, full of mage families who don't look related and live-in servants, and servants' quarters, and common kitchens, and shrines, and stables, and storerooms, and a wall of names of mages from the whole history of the temple-guild.
She glances at the wall of names and tries to guess how many years of history it represents.
"That's a lot of names."
"...who decides how many new mages there will be?" she wonders. "What happens when you run out of space on the wall?"
Thoughtful nod. More tour?
Things are so interestingly different here than at home. She tries to identify the plants in the garden and mostly fails, but that would be expected even if they were all common in Eianvar, and nothing looks blatantly alien.
At some point she will figure out what is up with bluemages but now is not that time.
"It's okay," she says. "What's 'polite'—?"