 | thelastshadowscale-deactivated2 That doesn’t make any sense. |
Send me a sentence for my character’s reaction
“Nobody ever guaranteed sense in this job.“ Her shoulders shrugged in one smooth, quick motion. A hand gestured as she spoke, ”You either do it… or you don’t.“
| thelastshadowscale-deactivated2 Hathor, Rhiannon, Freya, Freyr |
Hathor: What brings you joy?
The thrill of the hunt—her fur brushing beside the trees, beside the flanks of her brethren. Heavy panting, pads hitting the forest flood like the hoof of a horse; swift and strong. The moon in a rich yellow, flavorful in its light, generous; it nourishes them. “‘The Wolf is a gift,’” she repeats. She remembers.
Rhiannon: Have you ever been betrayed?
She looked away, silent. She recalls what happened—all the times she’s been stabbed mercilessly in the back, left to bleed her own blood till death. But those times were g o n e, and so was she. “Yes.” The word is blunt, short, crisp to the very last hiss. “Many a time.”
Freya: Have you ever been in love?
“… Let us discuss something else. Perhaps something… important?”
Freyr: Do you have any children?
“Not even after the Father has claimed my stale bones.”
