It’s not dying I’m afraid of
She gives him her usual look, that raise of an eyebrow, that half-smirk, half-smile. ”Oh?” she says, all mock innocence and definitely some flirting in there. Though it was always hard to tell what was playful and what was sincere with her, because her version of sincerity was playful. ”Like what?” she asks, a hint of challenge in her voice.
Then a pony appears and he loads the banshee onto its back, launching into a preemptive defense about how he’s not cruel to animals. Definitely not what she’d been muttering about, but she suspects he’s gotten an earful from a number of people and was just protecting himself. ”I mean, it’s a pony. Even if it were real, it can carry one dead banshee.” Which is to say, she’s not going to accuse him of animal cruelty. ”Have you been lectured on this topic previously?”
Then a pony appears and he loads the banshee onto its back, launching into a preemptive defense about how he’s not cruel to animals. Definitely not what she’d been muttering about, but she suspects he’s gotten an earful from a number of people and was just protecting himself. ”I mean, it’s a pony. Even if it were real, it can carry one dead banshee.” Which is to say, she’s not going to accuse him of animal cruelty. ”Have you been lectured on this topic previously?”
weaver
it’s dying without ever having lived
