 | scalesandsecrets "I can’t see anything." |
Send me a sentence for my character’s reaction
“Good,“ she under her breath. The sound of tearing flesh followed; thick, coarse fur made its way through Vlaya’s skin. Her sharp ears pulled back and moved up—bones shifted, cracked, popped. The sounds were quiet enough not to wake their targets up ahead, but it was certainly prominent in her general perimeter. There was a snarl. ‘You don’t want to.’
There is the sound of an idle hum in the air, as was the dull thud and crack of wood splitting as a certain Argonian turns a number of small logs in firewood. It’s more of a glorified task then anything else, but a task that needs to be done none-the-less, and Nor doesn’t seem to mind doing it. It’s only when he reaches for another log that he spies someone watching him, his frame immediately straightening in response.
“My Listener, I was not expecting your presence.” The axe is swiftly put to the side and Nor turns, his full attentions being given to the mer. “Do you require a task of me?”
{S}he makes her way down the stairs, fingers slithering over the ironwork of the railing. It’s old–rusted in some parts–but neglected to show any sign of giving out soon. A strength in that… yes. Her pale gloved hand gripped tightly, the shuffling of leather the only sound in her ears save for the soft howls of the outside winds. There it is.
Movement.
It’s quick and strong, and there’s a sense of purpose in that strike. Nor’s figure reflects from the voids that are her eyes. ‘Ahh…’ she thought. A small–and dare say, timid?–smile crept upon cold lips. After a few moments of admiring his handiwork, the Argonian turned his head to see her. She allowed herself to step further from the shadows and into light. She caught the drifting embers of the fire nearby, their flickering warmth fleeting in the sanctuary’s air. “My Listener, I was not expecting your presence.” She waved a dismissive hand. It’s small and graceful, but there is power in her presence. “Do you require a task of me?”
“Not at all, Nor,” said the Bosmer, looking down with a meek expression. 'Twas not necessarily a look of boredom or disinterest, but rather… nothingness. “I just thought perhaps I…” Her eyes glance down for a short moment, lashes casting soft shadows on her freckled cheeks. They look at him once again, this time taking note of the sheen of his scales. “I should know more of you.” Arms folded. “Recent events left us in shambles… And I do not believe I have given myself any light of day to leave my chambers and go about business.”
There was something like trust in her voice, subtle, but present. Vulnerability was a weakness in the eyes of the enemy–as a hawk is to a raven. But the raven is wise, and finds comfort in numbers… just as she did. Vlaya had not ventured out as much as she should have in these past few months, the moon rising and falling too many times to be healthy for a werewolf. She had always kept a sort of stoic, defensive demeanor around her dark sisters and brothers–but now, in this moment, she presented herself as the Listener. A shepherd of wolves in sheep’s clothing. “What I mean to say is… Let me try once more.”
A small plea, tiny, and far away. Spaces and times away. Small, inaudible.
Acceptance.
