Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
She gives him an appraising look, some surprise on her face. By now you’d think she’d be used to him surprising her. You’d think maybe he wouldn’t be able to, and yet, he does. ”Well that is rather a change for you, Loren.” There’s something pleased in her voice, something in her eyes that seems to be reappraising him. ”You might do well on this path you’ve set for yourself after all.” Maybe she’d wondered slightly if she’d picked a hopeless case, but she is gratified to see that he may prove her right. He can be who he wants.
”I am not even sure the gods can help me,” she says, and as he leans forward, she closes the distance and kisses his cheek in a teasing way. It’s the way a schoolgirl might kiss her playground crush, caste and quick, though it’s clear she’s doing it on purpose. It is a very Weaver-like thing to do because she likes to tease and not because she is shy. Clearly, shy is the last word anyone would ever use to describe Weaver. She leans back, smiling slightly.
Weaver chuckles, but she gets off the counter and makes her way to the pot with the cider. ”I don’t think this counts. I will make you a proper drink next time you are at the Kraai.” Still, she grabs two glasses and ladles some of the cider into each. Enough to feel pleasant and warm, but hardly enough for anything more. She comes back, handing one over to Loren with an unnecessary flourish in a half bow, before jumping back up on the counter with her own glass.
Her laugh is loud as he asks if she’s met children. ”Of course I have. Gods, you should have met me as a child. If you think I’m a handful now…” Well, to say she had been a terror as a child might be an understatement. ”But you know what I mean,” she adds, though she doesn’t return to being quite so serious as before. ”Though yes, you probably should be concerned.” She nudges him with her elbow slightly, taking a sip of the cider, thinking that he doesn’t have anything to fear at all. He belonged in Halo, and others would see it soon enough.
”I am not even sure the gods can help me,” she says, and as he leans forward, she closes the distance and kisses his cheek in a teasing way. It’s the way a schoolgirl might kiss her playground crush, caste and quick, though it’s clear she’s doing it on purpose. It is a very Weaver-like thing to do because she likes to tease and not because she is shy. Clearly, shy is the last word anyone would ever use to describe Weaver. She leans back, smiling slightly.
Weaver chuckles, but she gets off the counter and makes her way to the pot with the cider. ”I don’t think this counts. I will make you a proper drink next time you are at the Kraai.” Still, she grabs two glasses and ladles some of the cider into each. Enough to feel pleasant and warm, but hardly enough for anything more. She comes back, handing one over to Loren with an unnecessary flourish in a half bow, before jumping back up on the counter with her own glass.
Her laugh is loud as he asks if she’s met children. ”Of course I have. Gods, you should have met me as a child. If you think I’m a handful now…” Well, to say she had been a terror as a child might be an understatement. ”But you know what I mean,” she adds, though she doesn’t return to being quite so serious as before. ”Though yes, you probably should be concerned.” She nudges him with her elbow slightly, taking a sip of the cider, thinking that he doesn’t have anything to fear at all. He belonged in Halo, and others would see it soon enough.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
