Maea
And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die
It heals them when you die
A vague reply, but Maea simply nodded her understanding. Knew what it meant to lead a vagrant lifestyle, even if hers had only begun a season ago. She would find a way to contact Melita when the time came, if it came... and that was that.
And could have remained so, had the girl not answered Maea's question. But she did, and with enough confidence that the white-haired ghost of a woman settled back to keep talking. Holding out the bow towards the younger girl, she explained.
"Could you say if this bow is still in working condition? I used it in Torchline a while ago, and it got dunked in salt water, for a good while.
"I've done what I can to clean it, but... it keeps weeping salt. I don't want to risk snapping it, if the wood has somehow become brittle."
The weapon was nothing remarkable. A simple recurve bow of light, porous wood, the kind used for practice. It had a dosen or more siblings hanging in the barracks of the militia, all made for use, not for display. The string had been removed, as had the leather strips that normally would wrap around the grip... and the wood was indeed covered in salt stains. A bit stiff, a bit unbendy.
And could have remained so, had the girl not answered Maea's question. But she did, and with enough confidence that the white-haired ghost of a woman settled back to keep talking. Holding out the bow towards the younger girl, she explained.
"Could you say if this bow is still in working condition? I used it in Torchline a while ago, and it got dunked in salt water, for a good while.
"I've done what I can to clean it, but... it keeps weeping salt. I don't want to risk snapping it, if the wood has somehow become brittle."
The weapon was nothing remarkable. A simple recurve bow of light, porous wood, the kind used for practice. It had a dosen or more siblings hanging in the barracks of the militia, all made for use, not for display. The string had been removed, as had the leather strips that normally would wrap around the grip... and the wood was indeed covered in salt stains. A bit stiff, a bit unbendy.
And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh
A whisper within a sigh
