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;
They travel in silence, though this does not bother her. They are hunters, and silence is one of their weapons. When they reach the base of The Fangs with no real evidence of the luxere herd, Noah shucks off his pack and tosses it to her. She knows the drill by now, and as he shifts, she makes her way to a nearby alcove that she’s stored his things in before.
Weaver tucks the pack into the alcove and makes her way back to where Noah had been. He was of course gone now, and she was left to wait. This was always the worst part, the sitting and waiting. There was no way of knowing how long he would be gone, and so she settles into the snowy tundra as best she can to wait for some sight of him.
Weaver tucks the pack into the alcove and makes her way back to where Noah had been. He was of course gone now, and she was left to wait. This was always the worst part, the sitting and waiting. There was no way of knowing how long he would be gone, and so she settles into the snowy tundra as best she can to wait for some sight of him.
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.
