”Not like this,” she says with a contented sigh. Sun in Halo was not like this. It wasn’t warm, it was often blinding, and she couldn’t just laze in the snow beneath its rays. The Grounds was closer to this, but it lacked something fundamental to simply relaxing. Perhaps it was the sound of the ocean’s waves, crashing against the shore nearby, that gave Torchline an edge. Perhaps it was Torchline’s lack of ruins and the ravages of war. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.
She grins though as he says they are fine reasons, her smile a real thing, pleased and pleasant. Taking his hand, she returns his firm grip, her own calluses evident. They come from the knives around her waist, or the scythe that is unusually absent from her person today, and the years of hard work in Halo. She can appreciate a hand made of tough skin and good calluses.
She follows his gaze to the birds that land on the beach, though she is unable to see the way his eyes change from her current position. ”Only if walking on ice counts. Otherwise no, because everything is frozen where I come from.” Honestly, she is both fascinated and fearful of the sea. It is beautiful and it is deadly, and she has little experience with anything like it.
She grins though as he says they are fine reasons, her smile a real thing, pleased and pleasant. Taking his hand, she returns his firm grip, her own calluses evident. They come from the knives around her waist, or the scythe that is unusually absent from her person today, and the years of hard work in Halo. She can appreciate a hand made of tough skin and good calluses.
She follows his gaze to the birds that land on the beach, though she is unable to see the way his eyes change from her current position. ”Only if walking on ice counts. Otherwise no, because everything is frozen where I come from.” Honestly, she is both fascinated and fearful of the sea. It is beautiful and it is deadly, and she has little experience with anything like it.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
