Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
Weaver chuckles, grabbing a rag and helping him to wipe down the counters. It seemed like the least she could do, given that she has otherwise simply been a demanding bum. ”Maybe that’s exactly what I want you to do,” she says, tone light and playful, and it is clear that she does not actually expect that at all. Neron was his own man and could answer for his own lack of action. Well, he could, but that would require action. So never mind, maybe Loren would have to do it for him.
With the counters clean, Weaver pushes herself up so she’s sitting on the counter now, legs swinging slightly in the air as if she has never grown up. In some ways, she has not. ”I could be mad, but I’m not sure it’s really that important. It is my past, not my present. Not that I don’t miss my family, but it has always been harder for Korbin. He was really young when we lost our parents, whereas I have good memories of them. And though I may have been the one who almost died,” she pauses, reaching up to push her braid behind her and tug her shirt down slightly. Beneath it is the tusk-sized scar from the ursur, the skin forever mangled and discolored.
”He burned our older brother without any other family there. Some neighbors helped him. They didn’t wait for me because, well, no one thought I would live. Shouldn’t have, honestly. All I really remember is Korbin’s face. Every time I came to, he was there. Gaunt and worried. That fear never left him.” Honestly, that was the important part. The thing that mattered was the wounds that had not yet managed to close.
Weaver shakes her head slightly at the mention of the Advocates, not denying it, just amused. ”You know, for a secret guild, it is really not that secret.” There was no point in denying it. Her connection to Sunjata was clear enough, and it was unlikely he’d given a bar to a perfect stranger. Her eyebrows raise at the job he offers her though, a bit of surprise on her face. ”Well, it’s about damn time someone asked me,” she says with an impish grin. ”Though I realize you aren’t supposed to be apologizing for your brother, but can I ask, why are you the one asking me and not him?”
With the counters clean, Weaver pushes herself up so she’s sitting on the counter now, legs swinging slightly in the air as if she has never grown up. In some ways, she has not. ”I could be mad, but I’m not sure it’s really that important. It is my past, not my present. Not that I don’t miss my family, but it has always been harder for Korbin. He was really young when we lost our parents, whereas I have good memories of them. And though I may have been the one who almost died,” she pauses, reaching up to push her braid behind her and tug her shirt down slightly. Beneath it is the tusk-sized scar from the ursur, the skin forever mangled and discolored.
”He burned our older brother without any other family there. Some neighbors helped him. They didn’t wait for me because, well, no one thought I would live. Shouldn’t have, honestly. All I really remember is Korbin’s face. Every time I came to, he was there. Gaunt and worried. That fear never left him.” Honestly, that was the important part. The thing that mattered was the wounds that had not yet managed to close.
Weaver shakes her head slightly at the mention of the Advocates, not denying it, just amused. ”You know, for a secret guild, it is really not that secret.” There was no point in denying it. Her connection to Sunjata was clear enough, and it was unlikely he’d given a bar to a perfect stranger. Her eyebrows raise at the job he offers her though, a bit of surprise on her face. ”Well, it’s about damn time someone asked me,” she says with an impish grin. ”Though I realize you aren’t supposed to be apologizing for your brother, but can I ask, why are you the one asking me and not him?”
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
