WEAVER
Never forget what you are
for surely the world will not.
There were some people she missed out there, in Caido, and it would be nice to go back, but she also doesn’t mind just being here. Having an excuse not to leave feels, well, almost like a relief in some ways. She doesn’t mind the routine of heading to train, then to the Kraai. She doesn’t mind working on her cider and recipes, doesn’t mind sitting here making a menu. There’s something relaxing about it, perhaps a little freeing. So while she would look forward to getting out againHe is less interested in Deimos than she is, but she can understand that. He has no magic, as she has no shifts. They cannot really relate on this scale, and he cannot really understand how much she longs to be able to do what Deimos can. It could not keep them safe, but it could keep them safer, if she were more powerful. And while the school is helpful, simply listening to others talk about magic was equally helpful (thank you Maea).
”Hmm,” she hums, thinking about the drink, then deciding that the better plan is to just drink it. She gets up, moving around the bar to grab the ingredients and make a small glass for them to share. ”I am terrible at being creative, you know this. That’s why I have you. But I think of Leafchange, of the crispness in the air, of sitting next to a crackling fire. I think of apple pie with Mavis.” The old crone often had pie for Weaver, a long time friend with her strange market stall of odds and ends. Weaver stirs the drink and takes a sip before passing it to her brother, letting him try.
She looks up at the mention of Maea, sticking out her arm and rolling up her sleeve slightly to reveal the underside of her wrist. A small dove, wings spread, had been inked on to her skin. ”Who?” she asks, not explaining the tattoo because Korbin would understand. However, she wants to know who Maea’s family had been. Perhaps she could meet him. ”She was helping friends. Doing what exactly, I don’t know. Only that she ended up in the waters in Torchline at the wrong time and was eaten by a ghost whale and drowned.”
It wasn’t the whole story as Weaver only knew what Delphia had told her, but it was enough of it, perhaps, to be of some use. ”Her soul went to Mort, and apparently the dead watch us, but they do not long for us we do for them. They are happy to wait while we enjoy the gift of life.” And perhaps she’s saying this as much for them as she is for the stranger.
make it your strength
Then it can never be your weakness.
