He comes closer to inspect the basket, and she finds herself a bit surprised that he no longer looks like he’s about to flee the scene. Maybe she’d made an impression after all (well, certainly she made an impression, it was just a matter of whether or not it was a good one). I just create mine, he says and there’s a smirk on his face and she finds herself surprised yet again. A man of little words, but look at that, he was capable of something a little playful. “Magic?” she asks, wondering if he was like her. Well, probably a far more talented version of her, but it would be someone who could maybe explain how to go about actually learning magic to her. It’s more than she had now.
He comes to join her on the ground, sitting tall like a gargoyle against the building, and she finds herself really surprised now. She hadn’t quite expected him to stick around, though she’s pleased he does. He may not be the greatest conversationalist, but she finds she likes the statue of a man. Besides, he seems like a useful one to know. His hands come up and before long there is a knife gleaming between them. She stares at it for a moment, the craftsmanship beautiful.
“One, that is not fair,” she says with her usual grin, gesturing at the basket that was half a basket at best. She turns her attention back to weaving as she speaks, working on turning up the sides of the basket and getting them to stay put. It works better than the last time, the basket edges actually even and square. It’s a small thing, but no one said she needed a large basket. “Two, that knife would look brilliant somewhere on my person.” She knows it is not intended for her but the festival. Still, she cannot help herself.
He comes to join her on the ground, sitting tall like a gargoyle against the building, and she finds herself really surprised now. She hadn’t quite expected him to stick around, though she’s pleased he does. He may not be the greatest conversationalist, but she finds she likes the statue of a man. Besides, he seems like a useful one to know. His hands come up and before long there is a knife gleaming between them. She stares at it for a moment, the craftsmanship beautiful.
“One, that is not fair,” she says with her usual grin, gesturing at the basket that was half a basket at best. She turns her attention back to weaving as she speaks, working on turning up the sides of the basket and getting them to stay put. It works better than the last time, the basket edges actually even and square. It’s a small thing, but no one said she needed a large basket. “Two, that knife would look brilliant somewhere on my person.” She knows it is not intended for her but the festival. Still, she cannot help herself.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
