Her trap works, and there’s something admittedly satisfying about the squawks and flying feathers. There is always something satisfying about successfully catching your prey, and even more so because now she has dinner without actually needing to leave the building. Weaver sets about stuffing the bird and the lost feathers into her pack, figuring this was the easiest way to clean up without letting the bird go to waste anyway, when she smells the smoke. Like Maea, she ignores it at first, but not for as long. There hadn’t been smoke before and she’d been cold sitting in that corner waiting for the ningo to fall for her little trick.
Damn.
Weaver drops the bird back into the trap, leaving it all there to cleanup later. She won’t be needing dinner if she burns to death. Instead she runs back outside, through the door where, at least, the memory snow was no longer in the way. The memory snow was still a lovely castle, and she scoops some of it along with regular snow into her pack, not really caring what she grabs so long as her pack is full.
After that, she races down the stairs, which are quickly filling with smoke. She pulls her shirt up and ducks her chin, covering her mouth and nose as best she can. She’s not too far from where Peter had started the fire, and the smoke is thick and heavy now. Somewhere in the distance she hearsNeron calling out, and she responds as best she can through the smoke and fabric. “Here!” she yells, coughing some before dropping to the ground on hands and knees, trying to sneak beneath the worst of the smoke.
Weaver begins to crawl. The smoke is black above her and this is stupid, but Weaver is reckless in a stupid way. She’s trying to get to the fire, trying to dump the collection of snow which is unpleasantly melting on her back into the flames to put them out. It is moments like these that remind her why she really needed to learn her magic. This would be so much easier if she mastered it. Hopefully the snow would be enough, or someone would show up with a better plan.
***
Weaver calls out to let Neron knows where she is and then crawls toward the fire planning to dump snow on the flames unless someone comes with a better idea.
Damn.
Weaver drops the bird back into the trap, leaving it all there to cleanup later. She won’t be needing dinner if she burns to death. Instead she runs back outside, through the door where, at least, the memory snow was no longer in the way. The memory snow was still a lovely castle, and she scoops some of it along with regular snow into her pack, not really caring what she grabs so long as her pack is full.
After that, she races down the stairs, which are quickly filling with smoke. She pulls her shirt up and ducks her chin, covering her mouth and nose as best she can. She’s not too far from where Peter had started the fire, and the smoke is thick and heavy now. Somewhere in the distance she hears
Weaver begins to crawl. The smoke is black above her and this is stupid, but Weaver is reckless in a stupid way. She’s trying to get to the fire, trying to dump the collection of snow which is unpleasantly melting on her back into the flames to put them out. It is moments like these that remind her why she really needed to learn her magic. This would be so much easier if she mastered it. Hopefully the snow would be enough, or someone would show up with a better plan.
***
Weaver calls out to let Neron knows where she is and then crawls toward the fire planning to dump snow on the flames unless someone comes with a better idea.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
