The bear tries, really. It’s a valiant effort, but he never stood a chance. Not against them. In a way, she is amazed at how easily they come together, how seamlessly they move around one another. That she didn’t get stabbed by someone else’s horn is a miracle. No, instead her horns pierced seven lovely horns into the bear’s side, and the blood dripped down them now, creating red veins that cut through the natural blue ones. Some of the blood dripped onto her head, but she didn’t mind. It would necessitate a bath, but the place where his flailing paws had raked across her neck needed a bath more. They weren’t deep enough to worry about, most of the bear’s strength gone in those last moments, but blood trickled down her neck as well.

She almost laughs as Erebos calls to them like they’d just completed some training exercise rather than killing a bear. She wonders briefly if he’d known, if somehow he’d hoped or planned for this. Though she shakes the notion away, suspecting he’s too good and kind and honorable to hope they might have to fight a predator. He asks if they are alright, and she nods. “Fine and dandy,” she says, because she is. Her own wounds are minimal, and she’d come in late after making sure Vertigo was okay, so of the group, she suspects she’s come out of it the best. “Are you?” she asks Erebos, who’d taken a good slice from the bear.

He talks to the girl, and they finally get a name. Vertigo. She apologizes, and Weaver looks at the frightened behemouth for a moment with some envy. The girl is built for fighting in a way Weaver never would be. Weaver fought as she did, without fear and without reservation, because otherwise she stood no chance. The girl could bowl half her opponents over.

Shame that her large frame is wasted on someone too terrified, but she can’t find it in herself to entirely blame the girl either. Weaver can’t die. It is easy to be fearless knowing that. “Not your fault. If he didn’t go after you, it would have been someone else. “ That may or may not be true, but whatever. She’s not mad. It was a beautiful feeling to kill something again. To feel strong and capable, even if only for a moment.

When he offers the bear as spoils, she looks to Raven, who enjoys collecting things. He glides back down, hoping most of the way over to the bear though refusing to get particularly close. Instead, he just points with his beak at the claws. So she takes them, clearing a paw to keep a few for herself, and passes one over to Raven who clutches it tightly it in beak and returns to his perch on Weaver. She has little need or desire for anything else, so she steps away, making sure there’s room for the others to take whatever they want.

- weaver -