if it doesn't burn a little
She sighs, unable to help herself. It was as if the entire point of the conversation had been missed, but she cannot be bothered to continue to argue. She’d met less obnoxious fae before, and it seemed she’d get her harmless information from them. It wasn't like she was asking for their deepest secrets here. Just a little magic, a little light, in a dark world.
”The sanctity of my frozen wasteland, no? You’re just making it very hard to be a decent host, which we do pride ourselves on here.” At least, most of them did. You’d find good hospitality in the Citadel. Not that everyone was perfect, but they had little to offer besides warm food and a fire to those that came knocking.
Weaver shrugs, turning back to the fire. Erebor, you’d be far better at this than me, she thinks, refraining from talking aloud. ”Well, I’ve done what I can then.” If the fae didn’t want any help, Weaver was fine to let her go. She did have the perk of wings, but still, Weaver had at least given her the warning. ”Best of luck in whatever it is you’ve come here to do.”
”The sanctity of my frozen wasteland, no? You’re just making it very hard to be a decent host, which we do pride ourselves on here.” At least, most of them did. You’d find good hospitality in the Citadel. Not that everyone was perfect, but they had little to offer besides warm food and a fire to those that came knocking.
Weaver shrugs, turning back to the fire. Erebor, you’d be far better at this than me, she thinks, refraining from talking aloud. ”Well, I’ve done what I can then.” If the fae didn’t want any help, Weaver was fine to let her go. She did have the perk of wings, but still, Weaver had at least given her the warning. ”Best of luck in whatever it is you’ve come here to do.”
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
