05-17-2009, 11:51 PM
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500+
The woman was silent, choosing not to respond. The red hued girl was always at these games. It was as if that personality required the elicitation of an emotional response, but why such a thing was necessary would never be known to the warrior. She made the brief supposition that it must have been related to attention not given as a child, or perhaps it was because of the power that had been taken, before she moved from the subject. The black fae knew very little of the girl’s past, and she knew that it was highly unlikely that that would change. It was of no matter; the woman believed that, while the past did indeed help shape the personality of the present, it was the self that dictated how to react to the world. Some had stronger wills than others, able to shape their own life and destiny, while others had weaker wills, allowing the past to decide their own life. One was not better than the other; both were necessary for the other to exist, and it was this dichotomy, as all dichotomous things of the world, that created a balance, allowing the cycles of life and death to persist. Allowing for that necessary selection of the wild.
"I was Warrior before I was Adonis—my loyalty and duty has not changed, only the name," she replied quietly. And with that the woman allowed the matter to drop. There was no need to explain herself, especially when the girl would only continue to rebuke it with the ideals of her own mind, which were hardly stable. The woman paused then. Yes, she did love someone, but he was not with the pack. And she never expected him to change that fact; his duty was first and foremost to his mission, just as hers was to her pack. Love was merely a luxury that both could share when life allowed it. She understood this quite well. "The pack is the only family I have. Their protection is my responsibility." Corvus may have been her father by blood, he may have influenced much of her mannerisms through her childhood, or whatever she had had of it, but he was not family. And her mother was dead. "Is that why you left, to be with Leroy?" Her words were spoken with that quiet melody. She knew that the girl had caused some sort of disturbance with Haku, but that was not exactly what she was referring to. Perhaps the girl required that warmth at night. And, smelling both Leroy and Firefly (among other smells), upon her fur, the woman could only assume that the contentedness of the girl was due to that relationship.
The black fae turned to face the girl, but she did not sit, preferring to remain standing. The white orbs noted how the girl had adapted to her limited sight. The cut upon her hand was nothing—even those that could see made such mistakes. "Alright, Thames it is." Thames must have been her father’s name—many of this culture took the father’s surname as their own, she had noticed—for there was no doubt in her mind that she would abandon her mother’s name should it have been given. It had been, after all, Sabine Thames that had given those scars to the girl. "Is it a quiet life that you’ve lived out here," the woman began again, the white orbs momentarily scanning the terrain, "or has it been louder?" The woman did not think that the girl could even allow herself a little quietness, but she could never be sure. Perhaps they truly did not know one another.
500+
The woman was silent, choosing not to respond. The red hued girl was always at these games. It was as if that personality required the elicitation of an emotional response, but why such a thing was necessary would never be known to the warrior. She made the brief supposition that it must have been related to attention not given as a child, or perhaps it was because of the power that had been taken, before she moved from the subject. The black fae knew very little of the girl’s past, and she knew that it was highly unlikely that that would change. It was of no matter; the woman believed that, while the past did indeed help shape the personality of the present, it was the self that dictated how to react to the world. Some had stronger wills than others, able to shape their own life and destiny, while others had weaker wills, allowing the past to decide their own life. One was not better than the other; both were necessary for the other to exist, and it was this dichotomy, as all dichotomous things of the world, that created a balance, allowing the cycles of life and death to persist. Allowing for that necessary selection of the wild.
"I was Warrior before I was Adonis—my loyalty and duty has not changed, only the name," she replied quietly. And with that the woman allowed the matter to drop. There was no need to explain herself, especially when the girl would only continue to rebuke it with the ideals of her own mind, which were hardly stable. The woman paused then. Yes, she did love someone, but he was not with the pack. And she never expected him to change that fact; his duty was first and foremost to his mission, just as hers was to her pack. Love was merely a luxury that both could share when life allowed it. She understood this quite well. "The pack is the only family I have. Their protection is my responsibility." Corvus may have been her father by blood, he may have influenced much of her mannerisms through her childhood, or whatever she had had of it, but he was not family. And her mother was dead. "Is that why you left, to be with Leroy?" Her words were spoken with that quiet melody. She knew that the girl had caused some sort of disturbance with Haku, but that was not exactly what she was referring to. Perhaps the girl required that warmth at night. And, smelling both Leroy and Firefly (among other smells), upon her fur, the woman could only assume that the contentedness of the girl was due to that relationship.
The black fae turned to face the girl, but she did not sit, preferring to remain standing. The white orbs noted how the girl had adapted to her limited sight. The cut upon her hand was nothing—even those that could see made such mistakes. "Alright, Thames it is." Thames must have been her father’s name—many of this culture took the father’s surname as their own, she had noticed—for there was no doubt in her mind that she would abandon her mother’s name should it have been given. It had been, after all, Sabine Thames that had given those scars to the girl. "Is it a quiet life that you’ve lived out here," the woman began again, the white orbs momentarily scanning the terrain, "or has it been louder?" The woman did not think that the girl could even allow herself a little quietness, but she could never be sure. Perhaps they truly did not know one another.