sons could be birds,
taken broken up to the mountain
taken broken up to the mountain
The question takes him by surprise. Of course — why doesn’t she know Adam? He glances at her, brows lifted, expression unguarded. And he looks younger for a moment, until he remembers himself and his features close off again. “A bit?” he snorts, and shakes his head. “He’s not bad, for an Outlander.” And that is all Nate has to say about that. What he really thinks about Adam, he has not yet examined in great detail. They live together, but they are not friends. Nathaniel has very few friends.
Amalia wastes no time after his invitation. And he’s glad for that, really. No more time to think — he always thinks too much. Just the single flick of her ears, the set of her mouth. Then the graceful arc of her staff, glowing softly against the pale blue of the morning sky. Nate goes tense, thinking he ought to act a full half a second before he actually does anything. He has never fought in earnest. Has hardly drilled at all, beyond the basic self defense he learned as an unhappy teenager there in the woods beside the house. Always be aware of your surroundings. Know where your knife is. Know what can be used a weapon. He has a weapon now — a makeshift one, at least. He moves it haphazardly, just at the last moment, and Amalia’s staff clacks against it with a sharp report.
She moves as if she knows how to do this, and Nathaniel wonders how much training she has done already. How long has she known it would come to this? His expression steels, and he decides now — now — he must be worthy of their cause. Of her dedication. The echoes of the first hit fading, Nate moves slightly to the left and swings down that side of his staff. He aims for her side, though the strike is slow, and if it does land, it will land lightly.
Amalia wastes no time after his invitation. And he’s glad for that, really. No more time to think — he always thinks too much. Just the single flick of her ears, the set of her mouth. Then the graceful arc of her staff, glowing softly against the pale blue of the morning sky. Nate goes tense, thinking he ought to act a full half a second before he actually does anything. He has never fought in earnest. Has hardly drilled at all, beyond the basic self defense he learned as an unhappy teenager there in the woods beside the house. Always be aware of your surroundings. Know where your knife is. Know what can be used a weapon. He has a weapon now — a makeshift one, at least. He moves it haphazardly, just at the last moment, and Amalia’s staff clacks against it with a sharp report.
She moves as if she knows how to do this, and Nathaniel wonders how much training she has done already. How long has she known it would come to this? His expression steels, and he decides now — now — he must be worthy of their cause. Of her dedication. The echoes of the first hit fading, Nate moves slightly to the left and swings down that side of his staff. He aims for her side, though the strike is slow, and if it does land, it will land lightly.
