[se] for all her anger

She doesn’t come here often. There is little reason to, outside of hunting, but she rarely needs to stray so far in order to catch some decent game. Occasionally she makes the trip though, finding that there was something beautiful about their ‘sea’. Now that she has seen Torchline and the true sea, she cannot really call it a sea anymore. Not that it ever was, but still, her mind drifts to waves and an endless horizon at the word now.

Today she has a lantern with her, it’s flame flickering in the wind though she finds it is easy to keep it alive now. Far easier than it ever was, and for all her anger at their training, it had worked. When she arrives, Weaver places the lantern down and swings her pack from her shoulder. There are a few small logs in there - enough to catch and practice with.

She uses her little flame, pulling a piece of it through the air and landing it on the log to catch. Not that she necessarily needs more flame, but it’ll keep the predators at bay and besides, it’s far more fun. The day above her is a gray thing, but dry and without the threat of a storm (not that they couldn’t creep up on even the most seasoned on Halovians). The flames roar to life easily, and she grins, her smile wide and pleased, as she grabs a piece of the flame with her magic and lifts it, swirling it through the sky to leave a trail of smoke.

weaver

-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --

Quote by Charles Dickens