03-11-2009, 11:06 PM
[html]
500+
The woad warrior was going to go through much trouble for the girl Svara. At first, the female did not understand why she would want to. It would be appropriate to simply allow the girl to contemplate the flaws of her character and what such flaws had brought to her. But then, the warrior had thought of Onus, and she knew that Justice must be served. Then, again, the warrior thought of the pack, and she knew that there must be a punishment for the crime that had been done. The warrior could not understand why a wolf would have risked so much on a petty crime that had stolen the girl’s sight, for the scent would have been known. And surely the one having been attacked would know the attacker as well. It was a strange thing to the warrior, and the more she contemplated the matter, the stranger it seemed.
The brown female was quite relaxed. It was not even the calm of took one who was indifferent, and she had seen such a calm many times within the face and soul of her father. The female’s mind was suspicious of herself, wondering if perhaps she had been too quick. But that could not be the case. The scent of blood upon the other was unmistakable. It was the same as that which she had scented at the scene of the calamity. The woad marked warrior shifted her weight, feeling a stiffness in her right hip from the happenings of the previous day. But she held herself up, unrelenting to her own weaknesses. The warrior accepted the other’s bow. At least she showed respect where it was needed. Many had forgotten such formalities (and her mind went to Svara and to Dutch). “Thank you,” the alto melody sang, and her voice seemed dance with her sincerity. But the woad bound ears pricked forward. “Thames?” The female repeated. The white eyes studied the woman’s face, realizing a family resemblance. “You’re Svara’s...mother?” the female guessed based on age, but she could never be sure.
But even as she had spoken, this Sabeen seemed puzzled, as if she did not quite understand what was going on. Her question seemed innocent and without the false innocence of a lie. The white eyes narrowed slightly, suspiciously. What was going on? What was the matter indeed. The female briefly turned her gaze to the dagger which she held before the white orbs returned to those wheat coloured eyes. “Are you aware of what has become of Svara, Sabeen?” The alto melody spoke slowly, quietly, and she held the suspicion openly now as she deliberately used her name. Often the warrior found that speaking another’s name invoked a response, if only it grasped the attention. Then she lifted the dagger, holding it in the open palm of her hand, not presenting it to her, but merely allowing the woman to look. Perhaps it would trigger a memory. But the woman did not know of the mahogany fae’s habits, and she merely believed that the presentation of the weapon may invoke an emotion, any emotion, that would give the warrior insight to Sabeen’s innocence or guilt. “Do you not recognize this blade?” The warrior was still, unmoving as she studied the other woman with a careful, calculating gaze.
The woad warrior was going to go through much trouble for the girl Svara. At first, the female did not understand why she would want to. It would be appropriate to simply allow the girl to contemplate the flaws of her character and what such flaws had brought to her. But then, the warrior had thought of Onus, and she knew that Justice must be served. Then, again, the warrior thought of the pack, and she knew that there must be a punishment for the crime that had been done. The warrior could not understand why a wolf would have risked so much on a petty crime that had stolen the girl’s sight, for the scent would have been known. And surely the one having been attacked would know the attacker as well. It was a strange thing to the warrior, and the more she contemplated the matter, the stranger it seemed.
The brown female was quite relaxed. It was not even the calm of took one who was indifferent, and she had seen such a calm many times within the face and soul of her father. The female’s mind was suspicious of herself, wondering if perhaps she had been too quick. But that could not be the case. The scent of blood upon the other was unmistakable. It was the same as that which she had scented at the scene of the calamity. The woad marked warrior shifted her weight, feeling a stiffness in her right hip from the happenings of the previous day. But she held herself up, unrelenting to her own weaknesses. The warrior accepted the other’s bow. At least she showed respect where it was needed. Many had forgotten such formalities (and her mind went to Svara and to Dutch). “Thank you,” the alto melody sang, and her voice seemed dance with her sincerity. But the woad bound ears pricked forward. “Thames?” The female repeated. The white eyes studied the woman’s face, realizing a family resemblance. “You’re Svara’s...mother?” the female guessed based on age, but she could never be sure.
But even as she had spoken, this Sabeen seemed puzzled, as if she did not quite understand what was going on. Her question seemed innocent and without the false innocence of a lie. The white eyes narrowed slightly, suspiciously. What was going on? What was the matter indeed. The female briefly turned her gaze to the dagger which she held before the white orbs returned to those wheat coloured eyes. “Are you aware of what has become of Svara, Sabeen?” The alto melody spoke slowly, quietly, and she held the suspicion openly now as she deliberately used her name. Often the warrior found that speaking another’s name invoked a response, if only it grasped the attention. Then she lifted the dagger, holding it in the open palm of her hand, not presenting it to her, but merely allowing the woman to look. Perhaps it would trigger a memory. But the woman did not know of the mahogany fae’s habits, and she merely believed that the presentation of the weapon may invoke an emotion, any emotion, that would give the warrior insight to Sabeen’s innocence or guilt. “Do you not recognize this blade?” The warrior was still, unmoving as she studied the other woman with a careful, calculating gaze.