Khajiit never say what they mean. It may be because their religion emphasizes secrecy, or because their religion is kept a secret. Still, if you were to ask a Khajiit about their worship of the Divines, this might be what one of them would say.
Author’s Note
[As told by a crooked-tailed Khajiit, found begging on the steps of the Temple of Zenithar in Leyawiin.]
You ask this one to tell you what Khajiit believe? This one does not often give voice to his beliefs, it is true. It is not Khajiit’s way, but not out of any respect to differences, no. Worry about this is the way of the mewling cub, always going back to the warmth of the certain dam’s-milk, or the way of the politician, with their words of many-roads-diguised-as-one and their own vanity, a dirty word. Now this one is here, with these strange bent-lovers in their tall heavy buildings, saying words of devotions to still figures all painted in glass who do not hear. This is not Khajiit’s way, so this one understands your confusion, and your question.
Instead, look above, if you would ask. This one will show you. See the moons dancing across the sky, over and again? This is the Khajiit way. Turning with the moons, our skins mimicking the pattern, and so too do our feet. What else can Khajiit do, those not dancing like mer but dumb beasts? The world-changers would have us think differently of them, of course.
Do you? See now the curl of the moon-smoke and the glitter of the sweetness! Twinkling this way and that in the light, never still, like this and this. The sugar is in Khajiit’s blood, whispering life-leading-along. So does this one go with eyes alight like fire and shaking with moon songs from the rain!
You would call Khajiit a lush, this one sees, for misunderstanding the tremor in this one’s paws. Still you do not see? Look at the water under the docks if you wish to know its true worth. See the water pull in and out, at the beck and call of the moons, cladding the beach in sparkle and memory? The sea sways to the moon-songs too, yes? So do we, the dancing cats with the deft paws. What is music if it stays only on one note? If it sounds once, long and fading, never again like your dull stones of devotion? So the pipers trill and the drummers drum, so the Khajiit move up and down the scales instead of playing to just eight or nine, all-in-a-chord in your chapels. So the Khajiit follow the moons, and not the still painted figures who hear much but say nothing!
Dance and twist, sway and
spin, following the moons across the skies. This is the Khajiit way. To
remain still is to remain always-there, and that is not the name of this
one’s home, you see.
Now, this one has elsewhere to be, and
look! You are one step closer to enlightenment. Do not be angry! This
one shows you the meat of his beliefs, as you have asked. This one
considers this coin of yours fair payment, and will sing your sweet
praises to the moons tonight. Can you truly say the sour gold would have
been so filling in your own mouth?