Maea
It's not a demon at your door
Despite the reluctant grimace that wrinkled her nose, Maea had to agree. No small part of the process had undoubtedly been to unload too - something she still owed Asta a lot of thanks for.
"He hit some right back," she murmured, "so we're quite even there. It seems I put far more stock on his opinions than I realized." She cast a hasty glance at Asta. "Please don't tell him I said that." Maes didn't want to seem like the type to act based on the approval or disapproval of others. Especially not when it came close to being true.
Reaching the ruby cluster that marked the shrine proper, she set her bag down. "I did bring something. Yours is, uh..." she gazed at it, eyes catching on the bones; mind grinding to a halt as mental wailing started up in her brain, "... elaborate. Is that - ?" Human? She shouldn't be asking. Didn't want to know, even when she already knew what he was like.
Slowly withdrawing a small box from her bag, she set it down next to Asta's grotesque creation and opened it. Within lay a plain white feather - one of hers, actually - that had been coated with the blue-tinted steel of her tiger shift. A rather personal offering, it was certainly humble in comparison, though heartfelt.
"He hit some right back," she murmured, "so we're quite even there. It seems I put far more stock on his opinions than I realized." She cast a hasty glance at Asta. "Please don't tell him I said that." Maes didn't want to seem like the type to act based on the approval or disapproval of others. Especially not when it came close to being true.
Reaching the ruby cluster that marked the shrine proper, she set her bag down. "I did bring something. Yours is, uh..." she gazed at it, eyes catching on the bones; mind grinding to a halt as mental wailing started up in her brain, "... elaborate. Is that - ?" Human? She shouldn't be asking. Didn't want to know, even when she already knew what he was like.
Slowly withdrawing a small box from her bag, she set it down next to Asta's grotesque creation and opened it. Within lay a plain white feather - one of hers, actually - that had been coated with the blue-tinted steel of her tiger shift. A rather personal offering, it was certainly humble in comparison, though heartfelt.
It's just your shadow on the floor
