12-24-2010, 12:14 AM
OOC: WC 445
IC:
Saraqael had not attempted to cause damage and would not have if she had not been so damned afraid. Being small, a coyote, and strange-looking had taught her to fear, though Kaena, clearly with some great deal of coy blood, looked like a warrior. Her face was even permanently bloodied by a distinct vermilion mark along the bridge of her nose, lending a ferocity to silky silver, white, and other neutral tones. Saraqael's bi-colored gaze fell to the stray jawbone. “If you give it to me, I can fix it.” In her mind, it was far superior to a hollow apology and it proved she was useful for something besides needless destruction.
Expectedly, the leader was about business and asked for a testimony of worth. The ghostly girl knew in the pit of her empty stomach that she would be turned away, but she had not come all this way or separated from her family to depart without trying. Silently, swift, small-boned hands worked to undo the ties that kept her satchel secure. Strings loosened and pockets flew open in a blur, and in a moment she had laid out some of her favorite dyed furs. Two snowshoe hare arm bands nestled in her lap, one yellow and turquoise striped, the other a purple-speckled, red ordeal. She unfolded a young doe pelt fashioned into a top with tinted green whorls, its white spots carefully colored in shades of blue. They were popular with many and she had bartered with them for useful things. “I am a fur dyer by trade.” As though hearing their purpose, her dye jars clanked their chorus as she shifted her legs beneath her. A bead of snow had worked its way between her toes and was melting, uncomfortably cold and wet.
“As such, I know the skills for tending various plants – my mother's surname was Greenthumb. She also taught me to cultivate mushrooms.” She had spore prints with her for when the summer arrived. If she could find a cave with an appropriate climate and took the time to gather substrate, she could incubate them. “I am small, fast, agile – specifically useful for spying, and good at hunting hare.” She had to be – her job depended on it. “I can read and write well.” Her little voice faded to silence, snatched by a chill gust.
She could offer nothing more. She was young and relatively inexperienced. Lies swayed on her tongue seductively but Saraqael knew better than to speak untruths to this one, especially if those falsehoods would be unspun by sheer proximity of living. Humble and timid, she awaited her verdict.
IC:
Saraqael had not attempted to cause damage and would not have if she had not been so damned afraid. Being small, a coyote, and strange-looking had taught her to fear, though Kaena, clearly with some great deal of coy blood, looked like a warrior. Her face was even permanently bloodied by a distinct vermilion mark along the bridge of her nose, lending a ferocity to silky silver, white, and other neutral tones. Saraqael's bi-colored gaze fell to the stray jawbone. “If you give it to me, I can fix it.” In her mind, it was far superior to a hollow apology and it proved she was useful for something besides needless destruction.
Expectedly, the leader was about business and asked for a testimony of worth. The ghostly girl knew in the pit of her empty stomach that she would be turned away, but she had not come all this way or separated from her family to depart without trying. Silently, swift, small-boned hands worked to undo the ties that kept her satchel secure. Strings loosened and pockets flew open in a blur, and in a moment she had laid out some of her favorite dyed furs. Two snowshoe hare arm bands nestled in her lap, one yellow and turquoise striped, the other a purple-speckled, red ordeal. She unfolded a young doe pelt fashioned into a top with tinted green whorls, its white spots carefully colored in shades of blue. They were popular with many and she had bartered with them for useful things. “I am a fur dyer by trade.” As though hearing their purpose, her dye jars clanked their chorus as she shifted her legs beneath her. A bead of snow had worked its way between her toes and was melting, uncomfortably cold and wet.
“As such, I know the skills for tending various plants – my mother's surname was Greenthumb. She also taught me to cultivate mushrooms.” She had spore prints with her for when the summer arrived. If she could find a cave with an appropriate climate and took the time to gather substrate, she could incubate them. “I am small, fast, agile – specifically useful for spying, and good at hunting hare.” She had to be – her job depended on it. “I can read and write well.” Her little voice faded to silence, snatched by a chill gust.
She could offer nothing more. She was young and relatively inexperienced. Lies swayed on her tongue seductively but Saraqael knew better than to speak untruths to this one, especially if those falsehoods would be unspun by sheer proximity of living. Humble and timid, she awaited her verdict.