She was getting vaguely used to the Hallowed Grounds, to the blistering and miserable heat, to the fact that she was always sweaty and bits of her skin were always pink and painful. This probably meant it was about time to head back to Halo, to the brutal cold and blinding sunlight, to frostbite instead of sunburn. Yet possibilities abound before her. New faces, new plants, things that were green (do you know how unusual a color that is in the tundra unless it’s someone’s eyes?). It was hard to bring herself to go back just yet, and the trip to the portal was such a brutal one it wasn’t as if she’d just be popping back and forth every other day.
So she keeps exploring, having moved from scavenging and hunting to just wandering. The housing is not impressive, generally, which reminds her of home. Housing in Halo wasn’t much to look at either, having more pressing things to attend to then painting and decorating. House renovation was about finding ways to keep the cold out and the fire going strong, maybe adding a second hearth if you house happened to be large enough. Small was good in Halo though, kept the warmth in. There are a few more impressive looking places here, and she’s vaguely tempted to sneak in to some of them just to look. Harmless intentions, though probably she’d still get a hand lobbed off or some equally terrible punishment if she got caught and so she resists the urge. The threat of her brother’s “I told you so”’s was enough to scare her off, and not much scares her.
Eventually a small gathering catches her attention. She wiggles into the group, watching as a flash of light emanates from beneath his palms and then a terrified looking bird wings its way out of the boys hands as fast as it seems capable of going. “You healed it? she asks, looking for confirmation of what seems the most likely scenario. She does not clap, as some others do, but shoves to the front of the crowd to catch his attention. Healing magic saved her life once, but the reality that strangers had it, that it was an attainable thing had never quite crossed her mind. How useful, she thinks, looking at the hands that held a bird that up until a moment ago was living a death sentence. She was that bird, once.
Her dark hair, like usual, is braided over her right shoulder, the scar on her chest there hidden beneath fabric and hair. She’s wearing pants today, having grown tired of pretending to be a lady in a dress around here. Her scythe, that strange and unusual weapon from her strange and unusual mother, hangs on her back with the blade arching above her head. Along her waist is a belt of knives, each of varying shapes and sizes, collected over the years from whatever she could find for their usefulness rather than their value. Her amber eyes are bright, keen, and interested by the boy in front of her.
So she keeps exploring, having moved from scavenging and hunting to just wandering. The housing is not impressive, generally, which reminds her of home. Housing in Halo wasn’t much to look at either, having more pressing things to attend to then painting and decorating. House renovation was about finding ways to keep the cold out and the fire going strong, maybe adding a second hearth if you house happened to be large enough. Small was good in Halo though, kept the warmth in. There are a few more impressive looking places here, and she’s vaguely tempted to sneak in to some of them just to look. Harmless intentions, though probably she’d still get a hand lobbed off or some equally terrible punishment if she got caught and so she resists the urge. The threat of her brother’s “I told you so”’s was enough to scare her off, and not much scares her.
Eventually a small gathering catches her attention. She wiggles into the group, watching as a flash of light emanates from beneath his palms and then a terrified looking bird wings its way out of the boys hands as fast as it seems capable of going. “You healed it? she asks, looking for confirmation of what seems the most likely scenario. She does not clap, as some others do, but shoves to the front of the crowd to catch his attention. Healing magic saved her life once, but the reality that strangers had it, that it was an attainable thing had never quite crossed her mind. How useful, she thinks, looking at the hands that held a bird that up until a moment ago was living a death sentence. She was that bird, once.
Her dark hair, like usual, is braided over her right shoulder, the scar on her chest there hidden beneath fabric and hair. She’s wearing pants today, having grown tired of pretending to be a lady in a dress around here. Her scythe, that strange and unusual weapon from her strange and unusual mother, hangs on her back with the blade arching above her head. Along her waist is a belt of knives, each of varying shapes and sizes, collected over the years from whatever she could find for their usefulness rather than their value. Her amber eyes are bright, keen, and interested by the boy in front of her.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
