Sparkle like a sunken pirate wreck

Seren

I am magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
Destined to seek, destined to know

Seren admired the scar with proper awe, and looked to her own hands. They were small and smooth and unmarred, holding neither callous nor scrape. Not really fighting hands. Weaver was right, she would have to grow bigger first.

"After Deepfrost," she repeated, like a vow, and took the pinky in hers, swaying it back and forth and laughing happily.

With her feet back on the ground, Seren took Weaver's hand and led the way towards the path. It was a ways to go, and she had a grand time pointing out interesting features along the way. There was a rock where she had buried a treasure, that dip in the ground filled with water when it rained, and that tuft of grass had really pretty flowers that she picked for her father.

"And that one is for my sister Aoife," she said, pointing to a white stone, surrounded with blooming flowers. Seashells and other little gifts littered the ground around it.

I am a princess on the way to my throne
Destined to reign, destined to roam

Weaver

Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;

If she thinks that scar is impressive, what would Seren think of the ursur tusk scar on Weaver’s chest? It’s certainly not a scar with a good story behind it, though as far as scars go, it was a proper one. An ugly thing, though it marred already well marked skin. There was no hope for her skin to be smooth or pristine, and honestly, Weaver didn’t care. There was usually dirt under her fingernails and hair out of place and though she was pretty, she was not the most well kempt. Imagine what she’d actually look like if she tried.

Weaver is led, hand in hand, back to Seren’s house, listening to the ‘landmarks’ with smiles and nods and occasional comments about how cool something was. When she points out the little grave for Aiofe, Weaver nods again, a little more somber. She knows the name, remembers her conversation with Remi about his daughter. So was this where they had laid her to rest? Or was it simply a memorial? She isn’t sure, but she doesn’t ask. That is not the sort of question that truly demands an answer.

”May she burn brightly,” Weaver says instead, flame flickering to life in her free palm for a moment. She snuffs the flame out, and turns her attention back to Seren and the house, glancing up the sky and realizing how much time has passed. ”I should probably get back to Halo before it gets too late. I may need to meet your daddy some other day. You be safe now, okay?” She waits, making sure Seren gets into the house, and then turns and makes her way for home.

(finished)

it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.