Weaver finally caved. Her and Korbin set out one mild Halo day (which is to say maybe only -50) to make the trek to the Fangs and the portal. Why was the portal so damn far away? Couldn’t they have opened it in the Citadel or at least Snowcloak? It would make travel so much easier, though then again she may never see Korbin again if it was. He was shockingly excited to explore the Hallowed Grounds. Both of them were loaded with trade worthy goods, hoping they could get things that others might consider commonplace and they a luxury. Like vegetables. Not a lot liked to grow in the tundra.
The trip to the portal is (thank the gods, not that they care about her) uneventful. It takes them a while to find what looks like civilization here, getting turned around in this place that isn’t white. Turned around or maybe just distracted, really. They’ve never been outside Halo after all, never known a world that wasn’t deadly and frozen. Longheat probably isn’t the greatest season to visit in for them. It’s brutally hot, something the siblings were definitely not prepared for. Weaver, at least, had been smart enough to wear a low cut dress and not her usual attire of wool and pants. The problem was that she didn’t have clothing designed for summer, for the sun that blazed overhead and scorched the earth below.
Korbin and Weaver part ways once they find a settlement. It seems safe enough, the market there something familiar in a sea of green and brown so unfamiliar to them. She tries not to worry as she leaves him, though worry claws into her anyway. He’ll be fine. Everyone loves Korbin. He’s a goof and a sweetheart and a flirt, the sort of person you feel guilty about accidentally scratching let alone murdering.
Leaving him to the trading, Weaver sets off to explore. Eventually she finds her way into a field, something that looks like it’s probably rather fertile and lush in better months. Everything is a bit dried with the summer sun, but still, the grasses are long enough in places to be turned into a basket. Deciding to make quick work of the grass itself, Weaver pulls her scythe off her back and slices it through the grass is a few broad strokes. The blades fall easily to the ground, leaving her with what she assumes will be enough to make a basket.
There’s no real shade to be found, so Weaver makes do, sitting down in the tall grasses and hiking her skirt up to her knees. The ground is cool on her bare calves, but she’s careful to keep much of her skin covered for fear a burning. Sun is not a thing her skin knows how to handle. Once settled, she grabs a collection of the felled grasses and starts trying to figure out how anyone turned grass into something useful.
Ingrid
The trip to the portal is (thank the gods, not that they care about her) uneventful. It takes them a while to find what looks like civilization here, getting turned around in this place that isn’t white. Turned around or maybe just distracted, really. They’ve never been outside Halo after all, never known a world that wasn’t deadly and frozen. Longheat probably isn’t the greatest season to visit in for them. It’s brutally hot, something the siblings were definitely not prepared for. Weaver, at least, had been smart enough to wear a low cut dress and not her usual attire of wool and pants. The problem was that she didn’t have clothing designed for summer, for the sun that blazed overhead and scorched the earth below.
Korbin and Weaver part ways once they find a settlement. It seems safe enough, the market there something familiar in a sea of green and brown so unfamiliar to them. She tries not to worry as she leaves him, though worry claws into her anyway. He’ll be fine. Everyone loves Korbin. He’s a goof and a sweetheart and a flirt, the sort of person you feel guilty about accidentally scratching let alone murdering.
Leaving him to the trading, Weaver sets off to explore. Eventually she finds her way into a field, something that looks like it’s probably rather fertile and lush in better months. Everything is a bit dried with the summer sun, but still, the grasses are long enough in places to be turned into a basket. Deciding to make quick work of the grass itself, Weaver pulls her scythe off her back and slices it through the grass is a few broad strokes. The blades fall easily to the ground, leaving her with what she assumes will be enough to make a basket.
There’s no real shade to be found, so Weaver makes do, sitting down in the tall grasses and hiking her skirt up to her knees. The ground is cool on her bare calves, but she’s careful to keep much of her skin covered for fear a burning. Sun is not a thing her skin knows how to handle. Once settled, she grabs a collection of the felled grasses and starts trying to figure out how anyone turned grass into something useful.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
