if it doesn't burn a little
At that she outright laughs. Not just a soft chuckle, but a proper laugh, and it feels good to laugh too. Even as they stand there in Maea’s room, poaching her things and finishing plans she would never get to execute, Weaver is glad for the moment of levity.
Loren shifts his arm into feathers, and the gesture is reminiscent of Sunjata, who often seemed to have a wing or a feathered covered arm. ”Yes, but I imagine you do not want to pluck yourself and stuff your feathers in a pillow,” she points out. Not that she suspects he lacks for pillows or blankets or anything else in the Palace. ”Though I did pluck my brother for the feathers on my cloak.”
As he scans the invitation and responds though, Weaver stops from examining another of the items still left on the shelf. She’d been around to pick up the book, to see what was inside, but her chest tightens at the mention of their house. ”Ah. Perhaps...I don’t know. I don’t know if we should do as she wanted or if we ought to move it nearby, perhaps outside, somewhere.”
Loren shifts his arm into feathers, and the gesture is reminiscent of Sunjata, who often seemed to have a wing or a feathered covered arm. ”Yes, but I imagine you do not want to pluck yourself and stuff your feathers in a pillow,” she points out. Not that she suspects he lacks for pillows or blankets or anything else in the Palace. ”Though I did pluck my brother for the feathers on my cloak.”
As he scans the invitation and responds though, Weaver stops from examining another of the items still left on the shelf. She’d been around to pick up the book, to see what was inside, but her chest tightens at the mention of their house. ”Ah. Perhaps...I don’t know. I don’t know if we should do as she wanted or if we ought to move it nearby, perhaps outside, somewhere.”
-- weaver
then what's the point in playing with fire?
