WEAVER
Weaver sips at her drink, still leaning against the bar on her elbows. She doesn’t interrupt, though there’s something like understanding in her eyes. Though she has always lived here and has never known the pain of having her home ripped from her, she knows what it is like to lose family. That is a pain that never quite fades, no matter the time or the distance. ”I admit, the whole timeline thing blows my mind. I don’t quite understand it. I’ve found that to be true of other Outlanders as well, coming from the same places but in completely different times.” A tangential topic, easing away from the hurt that lingers with loss.
”There would be a lot throwing knives, though I suspect it would not be at the targets I set out,” she admits with a wry smile. No, it was a terrible idea, even if it would be fun for a little while. ”So tell me, what is it you do in the Grounds?” She’s not a big fan of the Grounds, but then again, she doesn’t know that much about it. It just feels like a rather depressing place to her.
”There would be a lot throwing knives, though I suspect it would not be at the targets I set out,” she admits with a wry smile. No, it was a terrible idea, even if it would be fun for a little while. ”So tell me, what is it you do in the Grounds?” She’s not a big fan of the Grounds, but then again, she doesn’t know that much about it. It just feels like a rather depressing place to her.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
