Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
It only goes to show that the Maverick is impossible to predict. At least to her he remained ever an enigma, puzzling and peculiar - and perhaps that was part of the reason why he intrigued her so much. Let it never be said that Maea balked before a good riddle. Getting tired of my own words
In this instance, she was relieved to be spared mockery. Shifting back so that she could respond, she remained stretched out on the ground with her curves fitted comfortably to rock and crag. It was uncomfortable, her stomach far too full after consuming more meat than her petite frame should be able to hold.
"Oh. Well... thank you." Flushing delicately at the unexpected compliment, she rather hastily turned her gaze to the carcass and assessed what remained of the black pelt. Ripped and torn and bloodied, she wasn't entirely sure what he wanted with it, though she admitted that the fireproof quality was very interesting.
"We could. Or, if you wait until the portal is done, we might be able to shear some of them, and get you some clean wool? Just a suggestion though."
Pushing herself up to sit, Maea tugged at the sleeves of her dress to make the bloodied fabric come free from her skin. Less unpleasant than it ought to be, it was not the sticky mess that bothered her so much as the itchiness once it began to dry.
"Danta, has anyone told you about the meeting that demigods and others held in Torchline last season? Apparently they figured out some weakness the Family might have, though I don't know exactly how major of one it is." It had been on her mind to tell him what she'd found out over Longnight, but then things had happened and the matter completely slipped from her memory.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
