in tenebris est veritas.
The knife wears the patina of long use, not as sharp as it could have been and not as well balanced. Chaele had bartered for it cheaply a few seasons back, from a trader who no doubt thought he got a good deal. She slides it back into its sheath and doffs the belt it hangs on, then stuffs everything into her burlap bag and ties it shut with a rope on her waist.
The last thing to do is take care of the candle, which she plucks from the sand and extinguishes with a breath. It could have been deposited just as well into the sack, but she has noticed how his eyes have been drawn to it. As she wades further down the slope of the bank, Chaele holds the candle out to Hadama. “Perhaps you may have no use for it, but wax is known to waterproof certain things. It also symbolizes family and connectedness, should you ever decide to use it in ritual.”
The water quickly rises to engulf her. Its cool, rhythmic touch is like a heartbeat embrace, tide currents reminding her of what it is to be a part of something large and distant. His question lingers in the brine for a moment as she takes in the new sensations quietly.
“They are called Words of Intention,” she finally replies, having begun to float just at the water’s surface. The delicate mask rests on her skyward-facing cheekbones as she continues contentedly, “The facial scars are a summation of the rest of the marks on my body. Each limb, each piece holds a different meaning. There are runes to represent blood, balance, freedom, fortune...”
The last thing to do is take care of the candle, which she plucks from the sand and extinguishes with a breath. It could have been deposited just as well into the sack, but she has noticed how his eyes have been drawn to it. As she wades further down the slope of the bank, Chaele holds the candle out to Hadama. “Perhaps you may have no use for it, but wax is known to waterproof certain things. It also symbolizes family and connectedness, should you ever decide to use it in ritual.”
The water quickly rises to engulf her. Its cool, rhythmic touch is like a heartbeat embrace, tide currents reminding her of what it is to be a part of something large and distant. His question lingers in the brine for a moment as she takes in the new sensations quietly.
“They are called Words of Intention,” she finally replies, having begun to float just at the water’s surface. The delicate mask rests on her skyward-facing cheekbones as she continues contentedly, “The facial scars are a summation of the rest of the marks on my body. Each limb, each piece holds a different meaning. There are runes to represent blood, balance, freedom, fortune...”
