ask no questions

Raven is not entirely oblivious to the fact Mortuus watches him, and Raven flicks a beady eye in the stallion’s direction now and again. He’s not entirely sure what to make of the Time Mender, perhaps because his bonded isn’t entirely sure what to make of the Time Mender either. He’s more than she’d expect from his title and outward appearance, and she suspects there’s a lot more to his story that he’s not talking about. Raven knows that she likes him, that she has an ease with him she does not always have with others. Not that Weaver doesn’t have a certain type of ease with everyone, but she does, but it’s different here. Mortuus doesn’t seem likely to judge her, not really.

“Do you literally speak Latin, or only figuratively?” she asks with a quirk of her head. If he really was centuries old, perhaps he actually does speak Latin. Not that she does, and they won’t be having conversations in a dead language, but she’s curious. It’s an easy enough way to poke into his story without scratching some more at those already bleeding wounds. Yes, she’s nice enough to think about something like that. She thinks about it always, she just usually stop herself from ripping off scabs.

He pushes another log onto the fire, the wood crackling and sparks flying from the flames. Raven caws, wings spreading in shock as he hops back, away from the flames. Weaver only laughs at him, amused, because nothing was close enough to hurt him. She pays as much to that as he does, knowing there’s no way to replace him if she loses him again. Once was enough, and she doesn’t feel like going without him again.

“When I get old and gray and all wrinkly, I’ll let you know how much it sucks,” she says with a bit of a grin, though in truth, she doesn’t really mean it. Yes, being old will totally suck, but she still has no desire to live forever. She wants to live once, to burn impossibly bright, and to leave the world charred in her wake. She cannot live that way forever. “I appreciate the good word,” though she already knows that her God, in the end, will be Death. Perhaps they are the same, but she doesn’t think so. Death is her friend, and he is kind, even though so many don’t realize it.

Raven caws in a pleased thanks, ruffling his feathers because the stallion paid attention to him now, offered him food. He drops his beak to pick at the seeds, settling on a nice large pumpkin one to nibble at. Raven forgets all about the fire and the horses, hopping about around the seeds, eating a few, stuffing a few into his feathers like he could save them there for later. Little hoarder, she thinks at him, though he can’t read her thoughts like that yet. He’s still too young for speech, but he seems to get her sentiment and glares at her for a moment before going back to his food.

Nox keeps talking, saying there is a way for him to die. She’s familiar with that concept, being able to die without growing old, but she never speaks of that way. She doesn’t intend to die until she’s damn well good and ready. Weaver cocks her back foot, appearing to settle in, almost leaning against the cave wall as he tells her to settle in. She’s plenty comfortable though physically, it’s more that she’s been politely keeping her big mouth somewhat shut. But, more serious now, like she’s taken his invitation to heart. “Perhaps, one day, if we are both ready we can meet our maker together.” Perhaps it wouldn’t work out that way, but it’s like an invitation, like saying she would take him with her if he asked. “Also, where did you get a wolf pelt? Aren’t we supposed to befriend them?” The seriousness is gone again, back to her usual playful grin, the mischievous sparkle in her amber eyes. Serious never does last very long with Weaver.

- weaver -

and you'll be told no lies