MAEA
Carry me through this world alive
I feel no more, this suffering
I feel no more, this suffering
Maea rubbed the back of her neck, dragging a lock of hair behind an ear. "Well... when you put it like that, it becomes very simple," she smiled, a bit ruefully. "I want him, because... well, no one else makes sense, the way it is right now. So, in the end, I guess I'll wait. Good thing there's to keep occupied with in the meantime, right?" She gestured towards the fire, the landscape, to Weaver herself and their talk about liquor, of flavors and what might be characterisic for a place like this.
"My first thought was something crisp and cool, like peppermint bark," she admitted. "Maybe with that really strong spirit you have, that doesn't really taste of anything - it's just strong?" There was probably a name for it, but Maea hadn't bothered to find out what it was yet. "But if you want smokey and warm... do you have toffee here? Or caramel? You mix milk with something sweet - like honey or beet sugar - and boil it until it thickens. That's very rich, and very flavorful. Goes with anything really, and you can mix it with alcohol. If we could manage something similar..." It would be sweet too, which probably was a bit misleading when it came to this place, but definitely a taste that would have people coming back for more, if sweetness was unusual here.
It was far more sobering to watch the sparks rise from the log, and think of people loved and lost. Weaver thanked her for sharing, and Maea nodded, not minding it. "Any excuse to remember them is welcome," she said softly. "Mort keep them." Her own prayer was short, heartfelt; wishing them rest and safety, because that was everything the Ground did not have.
Leaning back, Maea let silence settle over them. Filled only by the sounds of the world around them. Creaking and groaning ice beneath, the ever present wind, of crackling fire. It was comfortable, peaceful. A precious few breaths spent being nowhere but in the present moment, something she needed all too much.
"My first thought was something crisp and cool, like peppermint bark," she admitted. "Maybe with that really strong spirit you have, that doesn't really taste of anything - it's just strong?" There was probably a name for it, but Maea hadn't bothered to find out what it was yet. "But if you want smokey and warm... do you have toffee here? Or caramel? You mix milk with something sweet - like honey or beet sugar - and boil it until it thickens. That's very rich, and very flavorful. Goes with anything really, and you can mix it with alcohol. If we could manage something similar..." It would be sweet too, which probably was a bit misleading when it came to this place, but definitely a taste that would have people coming back for more, if sweetness was unusual here.
It was far more sobering to watch the sparks rise from the log, and think of people loved and lost. Weaver thanked her for sharing, and Maea nodded, not minding it. "Any excuse to remember them is welcome," she said softly. "Mort keep them." Her own prayer was short, heartfelt; wishing them rest and safety, because that was everything the Ground did not have.
Leaning back, Maea let silence settle over them. Filled only by the sounds of the world around them. Creaking and groaning ice beneath, the ever present wind, of crackling fire. It was comfortable, peaceful. A precious few breaths spent being nowhere but in the present moment, something she needed all too much.
Bury me in this cold light
I feed the wolf, and shed my skin
I feed the wolf, and shed my skin
