It’s not dying I’m afraid of
It was cold and callous, as Straia had been in many ways, but he was not those things. That was not a bad thing, but he needed to temper, needed to know when to bide his time on occasion. So did she, for though she was capable of their mother’s waiting game, Weaver was still far more fire than their mother had been. Their mother had loved them, but she’d been sort of mother who loved you as a bird might; she’d throw you off the cliff and let you figure out how to fly.
So Weaver waits. Waits as he fumes, waits as he picks up his pace. She doesn’t try to keep up with him, but simply waits. Wait until he spins around to face her. Wait until the truth is finally let out.
”That is not true,” she says, her voice deadly quiet, more serious than she ever is. ”I need you more than you know, brother, but not the way you think. I do not need you at the Kraai. I do not need you to do my dirty work and clean up my messes. But I do need you in my life. There is a difference.” She pauses for a moment, leveling those amber eyes of hers on her brother. They were her mother’s eyes, full of a fire Straia did not have, but so similar in many ways, though he may not know it.
”As for the rest, you are eighteen. I have nearly ten years on you and I’m just starting to figure things out. I’m just very good at pretending. And all mom ever wanted for us was to be ourselves. I am myself. You will figure out who you are, but you can’t do that if you keep picking up after me, Korbin.”
So Weaver waits. Waits as he fumes, waits as he picks up his pace. She doesn’t try to keep up with him, but simply waits. Wait until he spins around to face her. Wait until the truth is finally let out.
”That is not true,” she says, her voice deadly quiet, more serious than she ever is. ”I need you more than you know, brother, but not the way you think. I do not need you at the Kraai. I do not need you to do my dirty work and clean up my messes. But I do need you in my life. There is a difference.” She pauses for a moment, leveling those amber eyes of hers on her brother. They were her mother’s eyes, full of a fire Straia did not have, but so similar in many ways, though he may not know it.
”As for the rest, you are eighteen. I have nearly ten years on you and I’m just starting to figure things out. I’m just very good at pretending. And all mom ever wanted for us was to be ourselves. I am myself. You will figure out who you are, but you can’t do that if you keep picking up after me, Korbin.”
weaver
it’s dying without ever having lived
