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;
There are not many here yet when Weaver arrives. The fire is lit though, and Weaver finds herself drawn to it like a moth to a candle. There is a tree somewhat near to the fire, and she comes to rest against it. She tries to make eye contact with Delphia first, offering the Seer a nod, before her gaze wanders to the others. Oliver and...Loren? Maybe. It’s near impossible to tell, for the man stands with a hood up and well away from the bonfire.
Instead she simply settles in against the tree. Her scythe is on her back, and she wears her usual black cloak, though the hood is down. Knives glimmer at her waist, and though she is outfitted for a fight as she always is, her posture is relaxed and calm. She is curious what Delphia has in store for them. Curious what the daughter of Mort might teach them, and so, she waits.
Instead she simply settles in against the tree. Her scythe is on her back, and she wears her usual black cloak, though the hood is down. Knives glimmer at her waist, and though she is outfitted for a fight as she always is, her posture is relaxed and calm. She is curious what Delphia has in store for them. Curious what the daughter of Mort might teach them, and so, she waits.
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.
