gladly feast on all those who would dare to try and subdue us
The stillness dissuades her for a moment, though her sword-calloused fingers do not depart from the cool, earth-dampened skin. If she is to be unsuccessful, at least she can spare a moment of vigil over the woman upon the grave. Riya bows her head in tandem, but it is for naught. Movement makes Anju startle backwards, though she doesn’t rise from her knees or shuffle away like someone with lesser nerves might have. It’s a good thing too, as the transformation that begins to take place is one best experienced up close.
Life takes hold like cobwebs stretching gossamer and shining over sinew and bone. Color and shine returning to that which had slumbered untouched for longer than Anju could imagine. Settling back on her heels like a perched cat, the Dragoon watches (respectfully) as the woman’s chest rises with breath, and then she is staring into eyes like smoke and fog that captivate as easily as they do in nature.
A flush darkens Anju’s warm brown skin at the compliment - or at least it sounds like one. Perhaps the woman means beauty in the sense of all life being beautiful, but Anju is taken in by the moment and the intimacy of having awoken the woman in such a profound way. Her hand rises to tuck long black hair behind her ear, clearing her own throat as if in sympathy to Delphia’s hoarse chords. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?” Anju’s voice is soft, uncharacteristically for a woman as stoic as she, but all of this is unfamiliar ground. Riya noses in at her side, investigating the demigoddess with wide eyes but at least listening to Anju for once and not bowling the stranger straight over in her curiosity. “I am Anju. She is Riya.” Belated introductions perhaps but for all her lack of conventional manners the Dragoon knows the basics of greetings.
Life takes hold like cobwebs stretching gossamer and shining over sinew and bone. Color and shine returning to that which had slumbered untouched for longer than Anju could imagine. Settling back on her heels like a perched cat, the Dragoon watches (respectfully) as the woman’s chest rises with breath, and then she is staring into eyes like smoke and fog that captivate as easily as they do in nature.
A flush darkens Anju’s warm brown skin at the compliment - or at least it sounds like one. Perhaps the woman means beauty in the sense of all life being beautiful, but Anju is taken in by the moment and the intimacy of having awoken the woman in such a profound way. Her hand rises to tuck long black hair behind her ear, clearing her own throat as if in sympathy to Delphia’s hoarse chords. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?” Anju’s voice is soft, uncharacteristically for a woman as stoic as she, but all of this is unfamiliar ground. Riya noses in at her side, investigating the demigoddess with wide eyes but at least listening to Anju for once and not bowling the stranger straight over in her curiosity. “I am Anju. She is Riya.” Belated introductions perhaps but for all her lack of conventional manners the Dragoon knows the basics of greetings.
