Weaver understands loss. All too well, really. They share that, at least, though they do not know it. ”Cold,” she says with her usual shit-eating grin. ”Colder than the coldest day you have probably ever known. But otherwise? Honestly it’s kind of great. Once you get used to it, I guess. I don’t think most outsiders would agree, though. Snowy and icy, ringed by mountains, and damn hard to traverse. Everything that moves is likely to kill you. But the people are as tough as the place they come from, but helpful and kind. It’s a small place, and you grow close to the people around you, all trying to survive together.”
Weaver puts her blade away as well, deciding not to be a rude guest who leaves her stuff laying about, watching as Melita goes to greet her weird little companion. He is cute, she supposes. As cute as a gourd can possibly be. As Melita greets her companion, Weaver straps the knives back around her waist and picks up her scythe.
”My mother, my step-father, my two brothers. All of them taught me in some way or another. My mother taught me to hold my own, in every way she possibly could. My step-father and older brother taught me to hunt, to wield weapons and build traps. Both brothers taught me to fight, constantly sparring together, learning together. Sometimes just kicking the shit out of one another for fun.”
She says the last bit with a grin, thinking of all the ridiculous fights she and Korbin and Erebor had gotten into. Their mother never stopped them, letting them learn or simply be kids instead. Her and Korbin still got into playful wrestling matches, on occasion, tearing apart some chunk of the house and leaving the other with a good bruise or too. ”Of course,” she adds, not thinking much of the offered healing. There was no judgment from the girl, at least outwardly, and that seemed like enough thanks to Weaver.
Weaver puts her blade away as well, deciding not to be a rude guest who leaves her stuff laying about, watching as Melita goes to greet her weird little companion. He is cute, she supposes. As cute as a gourd can possibly be. As Melita greets her companion, Weaver straps the knives back around her waist and picks up her scythe.
”My mother, my step-father, my two brothers. All of them taught me in some way or another. My mother taught me to hold my own, in every way she possibly could. My step-father and older brother taught me to hunt, to wield weapons and build traps. Both brothers taught me to fight, constantly sparring together, learning together. Sometimes just kicking the shit out of one another for fun.”
She says the last bit with a grin, thinking of all the ridiculous fights she and Korbin and Erebor had gotten into. Their mother never stopped them, letting them learn or simply be kids instead. Her and Korbin still got into playful wrestling matches, on occasion, tearing apart some chunk of the house and leaving the other with a good bruise or too. ”Of course,” she adds, not thinking much of the offered healing. There was no judgment from the girl, at least outwardly, and that seemed like enough thanks to Weaver.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
