ASHE
are we dancing after death?
Ashe watched the feather appear in his hand, and she nearly smiled at the familiarity of it. She didn't care to question whether it was the hawk or the mage that created it, it was Remi enough that it was still a comfort to see.
Her hands drew back and plucked a dry piece of foliage from the ground, scarred fingers picking at the leaf. She listened with a troubled gaze cast down. "I'm sure you've tried most everything," she said quietly in answer, not surprised he had already investigated the place. There had to be cure, there had to be. She couldn't accept that they could lose Ronin again, something in her head shutting down when she asked herself what she would do if they failed.
Shadowed eyes flicked upwards to Remi as pieces of the dead leaf fell to the ground, and then she glanced at another blighted plant. "Does coming back from the dead make him more likely to avoid it?" she wondered quietly. She sighed, and with a gentle wave of her fingers, the cork from her flask popped free, water rising like a ribbon from it. She often neglected her fire, her water, so quiet in comparison to the storms in her blood.
"If it is indeed the Voice," she said, guiding the water forward to wrap around a blighted plant, coating it. The water pressed inward on the plant, cooling, constricting. She didn't expect anything to happen, but like Remi, would test anything. "Then we will deal with her. However we have to." Sickness, death, gods old and new... she would face it all. She would be afraid. And she would do it anyways.
Her hands drew back and plucked a dry piece of foliage from the ground, scarred fingers picking at the leaf. She listened with a troubled gaze cast down. "I'm sure you've tried most everything," she said quietly in answer, not surprised he had already investigated the place. There had to be cure, there had to be. She couldn't accept that they could lose Ronin again, something in her head shutting down when she asked herself what she would do if they failed.
Shadowed eyes flicked upwards to Remi as pieces of the dead leaf fell to the ground, and then she glanced at another blighted plant. "Does coming back from the dead make him more likely to avoid it?" she wondered quietly. She sighed, and with a gentle wave of her fingers, the cork from her flask popped free, water rising like a ribbon from it. She often neglected her fire, her water, so quiet in comparison to the storms in her blood.
"If it is indeed the Voice," she said, guiding the water forward to wrap around a blighted plant, coating it. The water pressed inward on the plant, cooling, constricting. She didn't expect anything to happen, but like Remi, would test anything. "Then we will deal with her. However we have to." Sickness, death, gods old and new... she would face it all. She would be afraid. And she would do it anyways.
