Thalassa
Hit me hard and soft
A flash of lightning highlights a grouping of roots in her path. Stepping around them, Thal lets out a grunt of agreement. Sacrifices and throwing daggers are different, and she'd be offended if Aithne had assumed they weren't. There might be an art form to sacrifices, but throwing daggers is a skill, one she's learned over years and hundreds of hours with a blade in her hand.
Aithne then asks for her to teach her, and Thal stifles the urge to snap at her, settling for a roll of her eyes when she spins around to face her again. "You want to know the basics?" There's already a dagger in her hand, the silver metal glinting in the purple glow of lightning. "Hold it like this" - she grips the tip of the blade in her fingers - "and throw." The dagger flies through the air at Aithne, aimed expertly for the tree behind her, its path intending to draw blood along the side of her arm - a warning as much as a demonstration paired with a sharp grin that's anything but friendly.
1/4
Aithne then asks for her to teach her, and Thal stifles the urge to snap at her, settling for a roll of her eyes when she spins around to face her again. "You want to know the basics?" There's already a dagger in her hand, the silver metal glinting in the purple glow of lightning. "Hold it like this" - she grips the tip of the blade in her fingers - "and throw." The dagger flies through the air at Aithne, aimed expertly for the tree behind her, its path intending to draw blood along the side of her arm - a warning as much as a demonstration paired with a sharp grin that's anything but friendly.
1/4
