KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Korbin grimaced at that. Really, he would rather not. "All I'm saying is, that if you really don't want to be lumped in with them, you gotta break away. Change your name, step away from their business, shelter under a different roof. Show that you're serious about being different... if that's really what you want."
He chuckled then, and shrugged. Plucked a cheerful little trill from the kalimba. "I did," he admitted brightly, with almost boyish lightness to him. "But I'm her brother, so I get to criticize all I want. If you try, I'll have to fight you." There was a wiggle of his brows, a half dare that wasn't all that serious. Really, Loren should have punched his teeth in several times over for the shit Korbin threw at the man's family. But he was starting to realize that it might not work as a way to rile the other.
Humming thoughtfully, Korbin lifted his fingers from the kalimba and let the sound die, melting into silence. "Probably more bard than anything else," he admitted, a bit reluctantly. "I don't like hunting, or fighting. But it has to be done, or we won't survive. Weaver does most of it... I pick up when she gets injured or too tired. Mostly I do the trading, and take care of what she brings home. At least, it's how things were until she got that bar. Now I don't know what I'm supposed to do for her."
There was a bit of a frown settling back onto his face, a darkening of features that had been almost bright. He looked both younger and older than himself, all at once. Lost, unsure. Weighed down by responsibility.
He chuckled then, and shrugged. Plucked a cheerful little trill from the kalimba. "I did," he admitted brightly, with almost boyish lightness to him. "But I'm her brother, so I get to criticize all I want. If you try, I'll have to fight you." There was a wiggle of his brows, a half dare that wasn't all that serious. Really, Loren should have punched his teeth in several times over for the shit Korbin threw at the man's family. But he was starting to realize that it might not work as a way to rile the other.
Humming thoughtfully, Korbin lifted his fingers from the kalimba and let the sound die, melting into silence. "Probably more bard than anything else," he admitted, a bit reluctantly. "I don't like hunting, or fighting. But it has to be done, or we won't survive. Weaver does most of it... I pick up when she gets injured or too tired. Mostly I do the trading, and take care of what she brings home. At least, it's how things were until she got that bar. Now I don't know what I'm supposed to do for her."
There was a bit of a frown settling back onto his face, a darkening of features that had been almost bright. He looked both younger and older than himself, all at once. Lost, unsure. Weighed down by responsibility.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
