the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun
Amhran's eyes widen to hear of Iskra favourite tale, and he's in the middle of splitting some ginger cake for Erebos and about to ask what it's all about when Nina's voice carries over the proceedings. Immediately drawing quiet instead, the Raeling settles in to listen with steady attention, his fascinated gaze drawn almost inevitably back to the First Flame every few moments. The way it warps and changes to accompany the lilt and timbre of Nina's storytelling is as impressive as the tale itself, wonder written plain in Amhran's expression as he listens.
The moral of Nina's tale might be a warning against the faithless, might be a little stern or a little spooky, even, but it seems to warm the Raeling rather than chilling him. And as the First Flame returns to its regular broadcast of steady flickering and crackling, he blinks himself back into the here and now and glances around to see how the others are feeling. "Wow," he mumbles. He feels suddenly inadequate - he hasn't seen nor experienced nearly enough to contribute something of his own, so instead he raises his eyebrows towards Iskra, as if to ask if he wants to tell about the first Ursur now that the opportunity is here.
The moral of Nina's tale might be a warning against the faithless, might be a little stern or a little spooky, even, but it seems to warm the Raeling rather than chilling him. And as the First Flame returns to its regular broadcast of steady flickering and crackling, he blinks himself back into the here and now and glances around to see how the others are feeling. "Wow," he mumbles. He feels suddenly inadequate - he hasn't seen nor experienced nearly enough to contribute something of his own, so instead he raises his eyebrows towards Iskra, as if to ask if he wants to tell about the first Ursur now that the opportunity is here.
