Weaver
Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
Time is a river which carries me along,
but I am the river;
She smiles, chuckling slightly at Seren’s answer. ”You are kinder than most then. Keep that about you.” Weaver hopes it will stay, that the world won’t take from the girl the kindness that is currently within her heart. Yet she cannot help but think of Korbin, and what the world has done to her bright little brother. He is a dark thing now; lost and hurting.
Seren takes the knife, and Weaver lets her examine it as she will. The little girl seems to understand the implications of fighting well enough, and she agrees not to fight for fun. It was a vow that would bend over time. Weaver sparred for fun all the time, but a spar is not really what she is referring to right now. She means a true fight, the kind where people get hurt with more than just an easily healed scratch.
Seren hands the blade back, and Weaver takes it, sticking it back into the holsters along her belt for now as Seren hops off the rock. Weaver can feel the change, everything about her body feeling lighter in that moment. Her hair floats above her shoulder slightly, her limbs feel like they are in water. As Seren hops, she drifts back toward the ground like a feather.
Weaver grins back at the eager child, suitably impressed. ”That seems like quite impressive magic to me,” she says. Magic worthy of a demi-god, certainly. It was the sort of thing Abandoned could not do; at least not without quite a lot of other magics to support it. Weaver slips off the rock and comes to stand. She holds out a hand, and flames jump to life in her palm. ”I think your trick might be cooler,” she says with a playful grin.
Seren takes the knife, and Weaver lets her examine it as she will. The little girl seems to understand the implications of fighting well enough, and she agrees not to fight for fun. It was a vow that would bend over time. Weaver sparred for fun all the time, but a spar is not really what she is referring to right now. She means a true fight, the kind where people get hurt with more than just an easily healed scratch.
Seren hands the blade back, and Weaver takes it, sticking it back into the holsters along her belt for now as Seren hops off the rock. Weaver can feel the change, everything about her body feeling lighter in that moment. Her hair floats above her shoulder slightly, her limbs feel like they are in water. As Seren hops, she drifts back toward the ground like a feather.
Weaver grins back at the eager child, suitably impressed. ”That seems like quite impressive magic to me,” she says. Magic worthy of a demi-god, certainly. It was the sort of thing Abandoned could not do; at least not without quite a lot of other magics to support it. Weaver slips off the rock and comes to stand. She holds out a hand, and flames jump to life in her palm. ”I think your trick might be cooler,” she says with a playful grin.
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
