who we are and all that we're trying to be
Artifacts of self-deprecating humor craved to be extended out into the ether on her statement – instead, a snort followed suit, taking it as a compliment. While he layered the stuffing he’d previously torn apart in his sullen rage back into some weak looking arms, he humored her, concentration looming on the effigy, rather than shifting or turning towards Aino. “I have some limits.” Another boyish grin enacted and coiled for her question, grabbing hold of more wool, tilting his head and considering where to place it next. Perhaps the gut, where there were still several large holes he’d yet to stitch back together.
Maybe Isilme had been restless, but he missed it – tides that were his own, instead of the ones he was currently banned from. And the Basin too, mountains so old and familiar, the outlines completely different than the ones here. "Sounds like Caido is bound to be the same."
Another light laugh hastened at his lack of a rotten spirit, more at his own expense. Mostly because there were days where he was a withered, decaying mess, or nefarious to the core. His piercing eyes slid back her way at the semblances of her mother though, pondering and wondering all the while. “How does she get around now?”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
