07-17-2009, 06:26 PM
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"So it has," the quiet melody replied with that discrete, placid smile upon her maw. Her eyes continued to observe the strange marks that were carved with great care by the builder. The careful beauty of those markings reminded her of the structured knots of her culture’s designs. She had carved similar knots upon the blade of Badb and of the Raven Spear, though the design depicted the head of a Raven—her Dream. The designs upon the Spear’s shaft were more generic, simple knots that bound its circumference and length with carefully placed meaning. But the work of Henratha upon the door did not seem to take the shape of knots. The brief pattern and the space between them reminded her of writing, and she wondered what it was that he wrote upon the door of this edifice. Her gaze finally moved from the wood to the male that worked it, an art that no doubt gave him the same passion that she felt for war. "I’ve been well enough," she offered with a soft, almost sad smile. She did not think that it was necessary to trouble the packmembers with her own troubles. It was enough for the black fae that both Brennt and Corvus Vendetta were now dead. "I trust that you have been doing well?"
While the woad warrior was a creature of the earth and the wild, she had not meant her comment about his work to be taken as an insult, but she did not think that he had taken it in such a way. "Your structure seems sturdy, like the trunk of an ancient tree," the soft alto agreed with an imperceptible nod. "But don’t be afraid to experiment and fail." Perhaps Henratha would surprise himself. She understood the safety of familiarity, for even in battle the techniques that were implemented tended to hold the patterns of attacks that had been successful in the past. But she understood, as well, that each battle was different, and that to battle with the same technique would lead to failure and death, for an opponent would quickly learn the weaknesses. Building was, by no means, battle or war, but the mindsets, she believed, could be applied to all aspects of life. Or perhaps such a method and such ideals set her apart from the others. She truly did not know, and she wished only to make a suggestion.
"What is this building," the alto melody inquired with that mild curiosity. Her eyes, which had once more observed the newly built structure, turned back to the male. She was unfamiliar with many human things, and she could not recognize what it is that stood before her. Briefly, those white orbs turned to the carving upon the door, wondering if those letters somehow explained the purpose of that building. Or perhaps, the woman thought, those letters spelled out the male’s name, marking it as his own in a way that she would not be familiar with (she would only be familiar with the scent marking of wilder wolves and of the pack boarders). "Did you build it for your own purposes?"
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"So it has," the quiet melody replied with that discrete, placid smile upon her maw. Her eyes continued to observe the strange marks that were carved with great care by the builder. The careful beauty of those markings reminded her of the structured knots of her culture’s designs. She had carved similar knots upon the blade of Badb and of the Raven Spear, though the design depicted the head of a Raven—her Dream. The designs upon the Spear’s shaft were more generic, simple knots that bound its circumference and length with carefully placed meaning. But the work of Henratha upon the door did not seem to take the shape of knots. The brief pattern and the space between them reminded her of writing, and she wondered what it was that he wrote upon the door of this edifice. Her gaze finally moved from the wood to the male that worked it, an art that no doubt gave him the same passion that she felt for war. "I’ve been well enough," she offered with a soft, almost sad smile. She did not think that it was necessary to trouble the packmembers with her own troubles. It was enough for the black fae that both Brennt and Corvus Vendetta were now dead. "I trust that you have been doing well?"
While the woad warrior was a creature of the earth and the wild, she had not meant her comment about his work to be taken as an insult, but she did not think that he had taken it in such a way. "Your structure seems sturdy, like the trunk of an ancient tree," the soft alto agreed with an imperceptible nod. "But don’t be afraid to experiment and fail." Perhaps Henratha would surprise himself. She understood the safety of familiarity, for even in battle the techniques that were implemented tended to hold the patterns of attacks that had been successful in the past. But she understood, as well, that each battle was different, and that to battle with the same technique would lead to failure and death, for an opponent would quickly learn the weaknesses. Building was, by no means, battle or war, but the mindsets, she believed, could be applied to all aspects of life. Or perhaps such a method and such ideals set her apart from the others. She truly did not know, and she wished only to make a suggestion.
"What is this building," the alto melody inquired with that mild curiosity. Her eyes, which had once more observed the newly built structure, turned back to the male. She was unfamiliar with many human things, and she could not recognize what it is that stood before her. Briefly, those white orbs turned to the carving upon the door, wondering if those letters somehow explained the purpose of that building. Or perhaps, the woman thought, those letters spelled out the male’s name, marking it as his own in a way that she would not be familiar with (she would only be familiar with the scent marking of wilder wolves and of the pack boarders). "Did you build it for your own purposes?"