She’s flattered that the way her feet crunched through the twigs and leaves beneath them sent his hand to the pommel of his sword. It’s not as if she doesn’t notice, not as if one hand doesn’t curl instinctively to one of the small knives that’s good for throwing. Not that she’s a great shot, but he’s a large target and any sort of hit would at least be a distraction. Her body language, excluding the hand curling toward a knife, remains calm and composed, as if there are no threats around. Which of course, even if he is not a threat, there are threats everywhere in Caido. Certainly everywhere in Halo, anyway, and as such it is easy to pretend that monsters are normal. They are, for her.
The silence between them is palpable, even as his hand releases the hilt of his sword. She leaves it be, letting him eye her up as most everyone seems to do (for varying reasons). She does the same, of course, amber eyes keen and interested, at odds with the casual lean of her shoulder against the tree. You don’t live long in Halo if you don’t pay attention, even if you pretend not to pay attention.
Eventually he gives a name, and though it is meaningless to her, it tugs on her all the same. She has never given much thought to what comes when you die, despite the death that surrounds her. Perhaps they are reincarnated into something else, into better lives. Perhaps she had once been something else, some other version of herself. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. And does it matter? Because now seems like the only thing that matters. Living, surviving, fighting to see another day seems like the only thing that matters.
He keeps walking, and it’s the unicorn that invites her along with a nicker. He offers the mare’s name, and Weaver takes that as invitation enough. She offers the mare a nod and smile, before following in their wake and pulling her scythe from her back, making sure to make noise as she does so. It is entirely unthreatening, but she’s playing on a hunch.
[say]”For fun?”[/say] she says, raising an eyebrow and waggling the scythe slightly. [say]”If you don’t mind a bit of a student on my end.”[/say] It’s a guess that he’s a better fighter than her, but an educated one given the look of him. The hard lines, the hand on the pommel of his sword at a sound, something perhaps eager about the gesture. It’s a hunch that he needs a distraction and she’ll take the practice if she’s right, but an educated hunch given how he just keeps moving. Worst case, she’s wrong and he says no, no skin off her back. His unicorn liked her, and that was good enough.
The silence between them is palpable, even as his hand releases the hilt of his sword. She leaves it be, letting him eye her up as most everyone seems to do (for varying reasons). She does the same, of course, amber eyes keen and interested, at odds with the casual lean of her shoulder against the tree. You don’t live long in Halo if you don’t pay attention, even if you pretend not to pay attention.
Eventually he gives a name, and though it is meaningless to her, it tugs on her all the same. She has never given much thought to what comes when you die, despite the death that surrounds her. Perhaps they are reincarnated into something else, into better lives. Perhaps she had once been something else, some other version of herself. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. And does it matter? Because now seems like the only thing that matters. Living, surviving, fighting to see another day seems like the only thing that matters.
He keeps walking, and it’s the unicorn that invites her along with a nicker. He offers the mare’s name, and Weaver takes that as invitation enough. She offers the mare a nod and smile, before following in their wake and pulling her scythe from her back, making sure to make noise as she does so. It is entirely unthreatening, but she’s playing on a hunch.
[say]”For fun?”[/say] she says, raising an eyebrow and waggling the scythe slightly. [say]”If you don’t mind a bit of a student on my end.”[/say] It’s a guess that he’s a better fighter than her, but an educated one given the look of him. The hard lines, the hand on the pommel of his sword at a sound, something perhaps eager about the gesture. It’s a hunch that he needs a distraction and she’ll take the practice if she’s right, but an educated hunch given how he just keeps moving. Worst case, she’s wrong and he says no, no skin off her back. His unicorn liked her, and that was good enough.
