(SE) a little too good at misbehaving

if it doesn't burn a little

Weaver nods, not quite capable of understanding but able to imagine. She has never loved in the way he has loved, but she understands the idea well enough. There were still mornings she woke and expected Erebor to be awake already, making breakfast and shaking his head that she ‘slept in’. He had always been up before the sun, and her with it. ”Then perhaps you are not,” she says, though without judgement. ”And that is okay too.” There wasn’t a right or wrong answer, though she would never quite understand that halfway limbo. A break. Like hitting the pause button on just part of life. Maybe it did work for some, though she was skeptical about it.

The rain drips through the trees above them, a large drop splashing on the top of her head. She can feel the dampness beginning to seep through her cloak, and she is thankful that it is still warm enough to be wet. ”Mmm, well, she is basically building a magical army. I mean, there are not that many options to marry off in her own family, so it seems she is trying something different.” Though they all have their own free will and she, at least, and certainly Maea, have a brain.

She laughs at the notion of a broodmare. ”And do you really think I would be told to do anything I don’t want to do, Sunjata?” she asks with a slight grin. She is very clearly not the type of girl to be bullied around, and certainly not a good broodmare.

-- weaver

then what's the point in playing with fire?

Photo by Allef Vinicius | Quote by Bridgett Devoue