if it doesn't burn a little
For a moment she gives him an almost playful look. ”I know. I was not so drunk I don’t remember you telling me about your reckless ways,” she says, though the moment is short lived and lacking some of her usual mischief. Weaver lets his hand come to rest on her shoulder, and at his words, she sends the fire in the hearth higher. It crackles and burns, raging for a moment, before settling back down into a normal fire. ”So often there is not even a body to mourn, and I have yet to decide if it’s better or worse that way.” They do not get to say goodbye, and yet, perhaps it is easier in some small way. A mercy, to never see someone so full of life without it.
At his next statement, Weaver chuckles darkly. ”Good point. Salvage what you can,” she says, her humor grim and dark though. She imagines Sunjata will be by soon enough, though still, she cannot bring herself to simply leave the letter. Just in case he does not get here before Zariah or someone else. She is certain she will see him and deliver it.
Weaver leans her head against his shoulder, his arm around hers, content in the quiet camaraderie. Her eyes stare at the ground in front of them, seeing boots and floorboards, though not quite seeing any of it. ”And they are right. No one I have lost would want me to stop living. But I don’t think that means we can’t be sad or we can’t miss them. I think it just means we have to figure out how to live with the holes they leave behind.” It gets harder, with the passing of each one of them, but they will find a way.
At his next statement, Weaver chuckles darkly. ”Good point. Salvage what you can,” she says, her humor grim and dark though. She imagines Sunjata will be by soon enough, though still, she cannot bring herself to simply leave the letter. Just in case he does not get here before Zariah or someone else. She is certain she will see him and deliver it.
Weaver leans her head against his shoulder, his arm around hers, content in the quiet camaraderie. Her eyes stare at the ground in front of them, seeing boots and floorboards, though not quite seeing any of it. ”And they are right. No one I have lost would want me to stop living. But I don’t think that means we can’t be sad or we can’t miss them. I think it just means we have to figure out how to live with the holes they leave behind.” It gets harder, with the passing of each one of them, but they will find a way.
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
