if it doesn't burn a little
The response to her home is...not quite what she usually gets. Something unspoken passes between her and Deimos, and Weaver wonders exactly what that ‘oh’ is for. It might be best that she doesn’t know, though. As it is, she is still uncertain about all these outsiders coming into Halo and pretending like they know a damn thing about a land that tries to kill you daily. Weaver has grown up there, and her respect for the land is healthy and well earned. Others come in feeling far too invincible, or so it seems.
Weaver nods as Amalia answers, looking up and around the bakery appreciatively. What a luxury, something as beautiful as this, passed down through the generations. How unusual for something to survive so long in this place. Before she can say anything though, there’s another question, and it’s only because she’s talking to the Shield of Safrin that Weaver manages not to snort in response.
”I wouldn’t know,” she says, doing her best to keep the bitterness from her voice, because it is not Amalia’s fault. ”They have never been with me.” Weaver shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal, and she’s pretty good at pretending it’s not when she wants to. She doesn’t always want to, but today she tries to remember to be polite. Besides, she just really isn’t sure her and The Shield of Safrin will share the same view of the gods.
Weaver shifts her attention back to the lantern, which has turned out unusually well. Her art skills are improving, perhaps, or she’s just really damn lucky today. Maybe it’s the cookie. A good luck cookie. Finishing up, Weaver collects and candle, working to secure it into the lantern. Maybe this year her brother would be proud of the lantern for him. Perhaps she ought to screw it up on purpose, just a little bit. She can’t be too good to her siblings, dead or alive, now can she?
Weaver nods as Amalia answers, looking up and around the bakery appreciatively. What a luxury, something as beautiful as this, passed down through the generations. How unusual for something to survive so long in this place. Before she can say anything though, there’s another question, and it’s only because she’s talking to the Shield of Safrin that Weaver manages not to snort in response.
”I wouldn’t know,” she says, doing her best to keep the bitterness from her voice, because it is not Amalia’s fault. ”They have never been with me.” Weaver shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal, and she’s pretty good at pretending it’s not when she wants to. She doesn’t always want to, but today she tries to remember to be polite. Besides, she just really isn’t sure her and The Shield of Safrin will share the same view of the gods.
Weaver shifts her attention back to the lantern, which has turned out unusually well. Her art skills are improving, perhaps, or she’s just really damn lucky today. Maybe it’s the cookie. A good luck cookie. Finishing up, Weaver collects and candle, working to secure it into the lantern. Maybe this year her brother would be proud of the lantern for him. Perhaps she ought to screw it up on purpose, just a little bit. She can’t be too good to her siblings, dead or alive, now can she?
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
