You're so cold
but you feel alive
Her own voice was not much different. The words came out dull, weary and without much energy; "Indeed. Good for us." Looking between the flames and the pile of memories, she added, "In a way, I suppose it is. Does it please you?"
In the pile, Amun would find a multitude of items. Most were practical in nature, the tools of trade a farmer might need for animal care, building, brewing alcohol and tending an orchard. Knives and hammers, boxes of nails and measuring tools, a saw and baskets of every size. But among the shears, pliers and glass containers, there were treasures to be found. A longbow stood leaned against the wall, lacking a string but seeming in good working condition, with a scratched but functioning quiver next to it. There were only two arrows in it, one with damaged fletching and the other lacking the arrow tip. Balancing precariously atop a pile of chairs sat a pretty little glass bowl, complete with lid and delicate glass feet. Light streaming in from the open door fractured in the many faceted sides and made rainbow light shimmer through the air; it was skillfully made, and how it had wandered from the house - where it clearly belonged - was a mystery. A few dog eared books had been stacked on a rolled up carpet next to it, and half buried beneath a pile of unsorted metal junk a rusty sword handle peaked out, safely tucked into a worn leather scabbard.
From outside, Maea shook her head. "No. Leastways not from here... don't think I could stand it." Somehow, it was easier to treat the things as though they had no personal value. If she bartered them off for something else, she could pretend that it didn't hurt to lose them. Leaving them to rot at a shrine or giving them to a friend, where she might have to see them again and be reminded felt... harder.
But Amun... well. He wasn't exactly a friend. "If you see something you like, you can have it."
In the pile, Amun would find a multitude of items. Most were practical in nature, the tools of trade a farmer might need for animal care, building, brewing alcohol and tending an orchard. Knives and hammers, boxes of nails and measuring tools, a saw and baskets of every size. But among the shears, pliers and glass containers, there were treasures to be found. A longbow stood leaned against the wall, lacking a string but seeming in good working condition, with a scratched but functioning quiver next to it. There were only two arrows in it, one with damaged fletching and the other lacking the arrow tip. Balancing precariously atop a pile of chairs sat a pretty little glass bowl, complete with lid and delicate glass feet. Light streaming in from the open door fractured in the many faceted sides and made rainbow light shimmer through the air; it was skillfully made, and how it had wandered from the house - where it clearly belonged - was a mystery. A few dog eared books had been stacked on a rolled up carpet next to it, and half buried beneath a pile of unsorted metal junk a rusty sword handle peaked out, safely tucked into a worn leather scabbard.
From outside, Maea shook her head. "No. Leastways not from here... don't think I could stand it." Somehow, it was easier to treat the things as though they had no personal value. If she bartered them off for something else, she could pretend that it didn't hurt to lose them. Leaving them to rot at a shrine or giving them to a friend, where she might have to see them again and be reminded felt... harder.
But Amun... well. He wasn't exactly a friend. "If you see something you like, you can have it."
lay your hands on me
one last time
MAEA
