Maeve
It was still an adjustment seeing such a title before her name. The looks of respect and quiet murmurs thrown her way for something other than her looks. She's still adjusting, but she likes to think she's taking it in stride. They haven't spoken since that night and definitely not since Safrin decided to raise herself and Aurelia to these positions of power.
The letter is straightforward enough and Maeve arrives just as he asks her to, dressed for the Wilds and with her bow and quiver strapped to her back, wasting no time in climbing onto his back. It's the first time she's ever flown and to say she's a touch shaken would be a slight understatement. The Nightshade manages, though. Just as she always does. Her grip is sure and by the time they make it to the Mistbanks, she's relaxed significantly, finding it hard to care about anything when it's so far below her.
He brings them down onto the bank, allowing her to slip from his back, drawing her first arrow from her quiver and knocking it on her bow. Maeve glances around, squinting to make out the various gourd shapes in the fog, but his growl pulls her attention in the opposite direction. She draws her string back, the weapon taut with tension as she holds, waiting for another flash of movement before releasing the arrow. It disappears into the fog before the a satisfying thunk is heard a short distance away.
The letter is straightforward enough and Maeve arrives just as he asks her to, dressed for the Wilds and with her bow and quiver strapped to her back, wasting no time in climbing onto his back. It's the first time she's ever flown and to say she's a touch shaken would be a slight understatement. The Nightshade manages, though. Just as she always does. Her grip is sure and by the time they make it to the Mistbanks, she's relaxed significantly, finding it hard to care about anything when it's so far below her.
He brings them down onto the bank, allowing her to slip from his back, drawing her first arrow from her quiver and knocking it on her bow. Maeve glances around, squinting to make out the various gourd shapes in the fog, but his growl pulls her attention in the opposite direction. She draws her string back, the weapon taut with tension as she holds, waiting for another flash of movement before releasing the arrow. It disappears into the fog before the a satisfying thunk is heard a short distance away.
I'm undone about to burst at my seams
'Cause I am picturing you beside me
So let me be everything that you need
'Cause I am picturing you beside me
So let me be everything that you need
