ask no questions

Raven is pretty used to being ignored by most companions, and he’s fine with that plan. Because to many of the companions he’s come into contact with, he’s prey, and some are not inclined to see past that. It was only the direction of their bonded’s and sacred nature of companions that keeps him safe. So when something that would normally try to eat him shows a playful interest, he can’t help but be pleased, always a collector of things. That included friends, however he could. He probably wouldn’t be overly offended though if one day Dramyrth ignored him, because his caring never really extended so far. Collections change, after all.

Weaver had been nothing before she’d been given her wings. Born an equine with no powers. She’d earned her resurrection first, the mark on her chest the symbol of Death. Then the wings from her mother, and somewhere along the way to here the seven horns as well. A witch who believed in the power of seven, who gave the little reaper a crown of seven. Some other strangers left a pretty girl with a pretty gem. Amazing what you can find when you wander. Another group killed her, left her body to rot thankfully. Little did they except her to be gone within the hour. Never do know what you’ll find.

As Amaris agrees with her, saying that she knows what Weaver means, Weaver finds she believes the mare. Anyone with a mother known as the DragonHeart probably understood where Weaver was coming from with her Raven Queen mother. She continues, listing the many things her mother is known as, and she finds herself mentally checking off all those that sound familiar. It is pretty much everything but the disciple of the Moon Goddess, because there were not Gods where they came from. Her mother served the Chamber as closely as one could serve a god though.

“Sounds familiar,” she says simply, when the mare is done and looking at her with that silent plea. “My mother started a war simply because she could. Stopped an innocent girl’s heart in front of the other monarchs.” Her lips twist slightly, not quite a smile, not quite disgust, but a strange mix of the two. “She’s still my mother though,” because Weaver loved Straia regardless, and she didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. But at the same time, Weaver believed in at least making sure you opponent was armed or capable.

She nods when the mare breaks the silence that stretches between them, saying she wanted to check on those above. Those above hadn’t even crossed her mind, which doesn’t shock her, because she’s never cared much about others. Though she’s finding as she lives here, she cares more than she might have expected. Than she once did. Maybe it’s easier, being out of her mother’s shadow. She doesn’t have to live up to some expectation, but can be anything she wants.

“I’m glad you are alright as well,” she offers, finding she means it. They make quite a pair, both limping along through the dark cave. Weaver had forgotten about the burns, but as she moves, the pain in her feet flares to life again. She’d be flying home, clearly. “The Basin. I grew up in forests and mountains, and some things don’t change. How about you?”

- weaver -

and you'll be told no lies