so much of our lives is just carving through the dark
"Isn't that always the way?" Isla sighs as they scan the searing coastline for any sign of the strange, void touched fruit that Hadama spoke about. Her sandals are in her hands, however - they aren't likely to survive the walk across such a superheated landscape (and she hasn't thought to get more suitable footwear, like the demigod beside her) and it isn't as though her feet will burn.
She also carries a thick, burlap sack to grab any number of the shadowed pineapples once they find them. For now though the coast is clear, and her pebble blues once more rake across the landscape for any trace of the void.
"It has not, surprisingly," she says of the clinic, brushing a lock of hair back from her face where it has escaped the bun she'd lifted it up into. "Other than the flurry of activity from the tournament, of course." Both acting as medic for said tournament and having to deal with the various drunken fallouts from the night after had seen the clinic get busy, only to calm down again.
"You fought well, by the way."
She also carries a thick, burlap sack to grab any number of the shadowed pineapples once they find them. For now though the coast is clear, and her pebble blues once more rake across the landscape for any trace of the void.
"It has not, surprisingly," she says of the clinic, brushing a lock of hair back from her face where it has escaped the bun she'd lifted it up into. "Other than the flurry of activity from the tournament, of course." Both acting as medic for said tournament and having to deal with the various drunken fallouts from the night after had seen the clinic get busy, only to calm down again.
"You fought well, by the way."
