A request for aid, for a traveler with much farther to travel, lands on a sympathetic mind. But the aid requested is of a different sort than she usually provides. Perhaps a collaboration?

She has the right person for the job, and the exchange of favors will serve her interests twice over, for ending wars more quickly and with less bloodshed is always welcome. A collaboration it is.

Oh – an interesting place, so different and far away, and the right sort of opportunity, unexpected help in a deadly moment.  The goddess could find someone of her own, but... this might solve two problems rather than one, and it will be even more interesting that way.

There is that troubling man of yours...

The god does not spend time looking outward to worlds not his own, nor does he enjoy being reminded of not having found the right solution to this problem on his own.  But he will not refuse one if it comes to him, and though he will not think of it as a favor accepted and owed, they both know it will work out much the same.

Oh. 

But the man is his, and it's not entirely easy to let go.

... If you want to know what kind of place it is, look for yourself.

He will not do that, and they both know it.  And neither will he let him go without knowing.

Something like a sigh.

Yes, it's the right sort of place for him.

Then yes.

Time and distance are malleable, and the same thing anyway, on this scale – it would be easy enough make everything line up perfectly.  But it was left in her hands, and she's the goddess of surprise, among other things.  So Marc d'Ambray collapses unexpectedly, a few days before the appointed day of his death.

The one she means to send has business of hers to finish here, but at these distances, time can be folded like cloth. Samora sets out with her companions in the morning, and vanishes from the path for an instant of undetermined duration.