if it doesn't burn a little
If she was going to come; how silly. Of course she was going to come, even if it meant coming to the Greatwood and getting lost a few times. This wood has a way of doing that, turning around even the best navigators. Weaver can navigate a (moderate) blizzard, and yet she finds herself lost in this damn place time and again. Only slightly lost, but still, it is enough to be annoying. The Fae were tricksty, and she had to give them credit for it.
Eventually she finds Sunjata. The rain has yet to let up, but her weatherproof gear is far too warm for the Greatwood and so she comes only in a black cloak with a hood, the fabric not waterproof but at least somewhat water resistant. Her hood is up, though her usual braid spills out of the front and across her right shoulder. It is less to keep herself dry and more to keep the water out of her eyes, keeping her vision clear at least (albeit somewhat limited on the sides). Her scythe sweeps above her head as usual, and dressed a such, she looks like a rather pretty grim reaper. Shame death wasn’t as attractive as her, somedays.
”Sunjata,” she greets, once she is close enough to be heard over the rain. ”Why are we meeting in the Greatwood, of all places?” It is a strange place for them to meet, neither of them belonging here and with no business here either. Was there some bit of pleasure involved, some desire to see if the tales of the Greatwood’s magic were true? Perhaps, in which case, she was happy to play.
Eventually she finds Sunjata. The rain has yet to let up, but her weatherproof gear is far too warm for the Greatwood and so she comes only in a black cloak with a hood, the fabric not waterproof but at least somewhat water resistant. Her hood is up, though her usual braid spills out of the front and across her right shoulder. It is less to keep herself dry and more to keep the water out of her eyes, keeping her vision clear at least (albeit somewhat limited on the sides). Her scythe sweeps above her head as usual, and dressed a such, she looks like a rather pretty grim reaper. Shame death wasn’t as attractive as her, somedays.
”Sunjata,” she greets, once she is close enough to be heard over the rain. ”Why are we meeting in the Greatwood, of all places?” It is a strange place for them to meet, neither of them belonging here and with no business here either. Was there some bit of pleasure involved, some desire to see if the tales of the Greatwood’s magic were true? Perhaps, in which case, she was happy to play.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
