stitches don't heal all wounds

the Rift

[OPEN] stitches don't heal all wounds

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459

Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5

Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan

09-07-2015, 01:31 AM

Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

Charcoal lips twitched in the face of her witty reply, and there was a new gleam of amusement to the honeyed eyes as he approached the lady. He couldn't really say that he perfectly recalled everything about whatever meeting they'd had - her name was gone with the wind, as was the reason why she had been trapped that time - but something told Lace that this reaction to his presence was a lot more strange than her knowing his name.

"Alright, stay still then", he said. The chiseled head tilted slightly as he regarded the trees, a rather business like expression settling over the features. If she had expected him to fire up over the old title, he would have to leave her disappointed; Lace barely noticed it this time.

A deep breath was followed by a focused, intense silence as he reached out into the trees with his mind. The seasons had changed and all around him the forest was waking up. Sap rose and streamed throughout trunk and root, branch and budding leaf, making the materials soft and supple, flexible and incredibly pliable. It was a sheer joy to shape it; with a slight smile on his lips the former craftsman bent the wood that trapped the lady out of the way so that the grip around her generous waist gave away. Once she were free and well out of the way he elegantly returned the trees to their original shape, sparing her the embarrassment of seeing the faintly O shaped curvature should she ever pass by again.

"There you go, that should feel better. No fee, I'll be here until Tallsun, tell all your family and friends..." He gave her a slight wink and grinned.

"Now, my dear, how did you end up in such a state?" It wasn't quite clear whether he meant the generous figure or the predicament, but at least the concern as he inched closer to check whether she was hurt seemed genuine. "They tell me it was a harsh winter this year. I'm glad to see you look well."

Fajira warbled from her perch in the tree above, her scales glittering in the light of the pocket sized sun and a clear tone of irony to the trill. The stallion smirked, but chose not to repeat what the little queen had said; some things were better left unsaid.