Weaver spends a lot of time in the Tundra. Whether it is trekking between the portal and the Citadel or hunting, she is no stranger to the wasteland of her home. There is something different about tonight though. For starters, it is not as quiet as it should be. Second, there is something off. She can feel it long before she spots the reason.
Descending The Fangs with her scythe on her back and her black cloak on and the hood pulled up, Weaver spots the growing crowd of people. One does not see crowds in the Tundra. Not unless there is something going on, which would explain the prickle on the back of her neck. Weaver makes her way to the group, eventually spotting what they see. It’s an ursur (of course it’s a damn ursur), but it’s ghostly in its form. Keeping to the back of the group, Weaver slides up next to Noah. She knows many of the faces here, but right now, she only trusts another Halovian. ”Well I’ll fucking be,” she mutters to the other hunter.
Descending The Fangs with her scythe on her back and her black cloak on and the hood pulled up, Weaver spots the growing crowd of people. One does not see crowds in the Tundra. Not unless there is something going on, which would explain the prickle on the back of her neck. Weaver makes her way to the group, eventually spotting what they see. It’s an ursur (of course it’s a damn ursur), but it’s ghostly in its form. Keeping to the back of the group, Weaver slides up next to Noah. She knows many of the faces here, but right now, she only trusts another Halovian. ”Well I’ll fucking be,” she mutters to the other hunter.
weaver
-- ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies --
Quote by Charles Dickens
