Maea
It's not a demon at your door
She didn't mind the silence. If he needed to think about it, that's just how it was. Maea waited patiently, and hummed with painful understanding at the lack of answers when Liam did respond. "It will come to you," she told him softly. "I didn't know either for the longest time. Still don't, in many ways... but it gets easier."
Twisting around so she could stretch out on the ground, her flight of dragons sped into the campfire and evaporated in a hiss of sparks and smoke. Raising a hand to block the glare of the sun from her eyes, she considered the question for herself. "I want... my companion back. I want the magic I lost to be restored to me. I want... to plant roots so deep in this soil that nothing can tear me away. Some day, I want to be proud of who I am, not afraid or ashamed; conquer the darkness that comes with the goddess and control it, so that it can't control me. I want..." trailing off, she rolled her head over as far as the crescent-shaped horns allowed, and gazed at the soldier, the man, the friend by her side; "to spar with you some day. That might be interesting."
What would he make of her home-grown techniques and tendencies? What might it be like to face a seasoned soldier, well trained if perhaps a bit rusty? She didn't assume anything about his prowess or lack thereof, but her belly flipped at the thought of matching strengths and see who came out on top.
Twisting around so she could stretch out on the ground, her flight of dragons sped into the campfire and evaporated in a hiss of sparks and smoke. Raising a hand to block the glare of the sun from her eyes, she considered the question for herself. "I want... my companion back. I want the magic I lost to be restored to me. I want... to plant roots so deep in this soil that nothing can tear me away. Some day, I want to be proud of who I am, not afraid or ashamed; conquer the darkness that comes with the goddess and control it, so that it can't control me. I want..." trailing off, she rolled her head over as far as the crescent-shaped horns allowed, and gazed at the soldier, the man, the friend by her side; "to spar with you some day. That might be interesting."
What would he make of her home-grown techniques and tendencies? What might it be like to face a seasoned soldier, well trained if perhaps a bit rusty? She didn't assume anything about his prowess or lack thereof, but her belly flipped at the thought of matching strengths and see who came out on top.
It's just your shadow on the floor
