Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
Deepfrost is creeping closer, and with it, she knows, the loss of her freedom. The temperature in Halo at night is already well below livable, and she can only come and go from the portal during the day. It really is a shame that the portal is not in the middle of the Citadel, but alas, nothing in Caido could be so easy. So she is taking advantage of the time to travel while she still can, slipping away in between all the work setting up the Kraai. For now she was waiting for the last few things to arrive so they could set up, and it felt okay to leave for a bit.
Today she decides to take advantage of the warm weather of Torchline. The breeze has picked up, particularly along the coastline, but it is still warm and pleasant. She remembers Sunjata telling her about the house he has near the lighthouse, and she figures if nothing else, she can stop by and see if there is anything she is missing for this bar.
But instead, her attention is caught by a little girl perched on a large rock. Her knees are tucked up against her chest and she looks...sulky? Sad? She seems far too young to be left alone, but then again, Weaver knows very little about children and at what age one can leave them sitting alone on a rock by themselves. Or perhaps her parents are nearby. ’Hello,” she says, making her way over to the little girl. Her smile is friendly, even if the scythe on her back is anything but. ”I’m Weaver,” she offers to the girl, hoping to set her at ease and make it clear she means no harm. ”What are you doing out here by yourself?”
Today she decides to take advantage of the warm weather of Torchline. The breeze has picked up, particularly along the coastline, but it is still warm and pleasant. She remembers Sunjata telling her about the house he has near the lighthouse, and she figures if nothing else, she can stop by and see if there is anything she is missing for this bar.
But instead, her attention is caught by a little girl perched on a large rock. Her knees are tucked up against her chest and she looks...sulky? Sad? She seems far too young to be left alone, but then again, Weaver knows very little about children and at what age one can leave them sitting alone on a rock by themselves. Or perhaps her parents are nearby. ’Hello,” she says, making her way over to the little girl. Her smile is friendly, even if the scythe on her back is anything but. ”I’m Weaver,” she offers to the girl, hoping to set her at ease and make it clear she means no harm. ”What are you doing out here by yourself?”
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
