Somehow, her words cut through him. Maybe. It looks like it, anyway, the way he turns away from her then. Touchy, apparently, this young general of hers. Were all of them going to be so touchy? Most were, she knew. Somewhere in her gut she knew she couldn’t really blame them. Most weren’t raised as she was, by a mother without a heart, by a monster for a father. Those things weren’t entirely true. Her mother did have a heart, and she also had the power to stop the hearts of others. But her heart, if it beat with kindness at all, only cared her home and her children. Her father was less monster than weed, something that wormed his way in to places you did not want him and strangled everything from the inside out. She knew to look for dangers in the less obvious places. She often missed the obvious though.

“No,” she says simply, honestly, without the usual playfulness behind her words. “That is why I said, in this moment. She rolls her shoulders slightly, now distracted, which is a terrible thing to be when you are supposed to be looking for dangers. “But didn’t Kisamoa parade as one thing only to prove to be another? In your shoes, I would likely turn on my army just to prove a point. Clearly, you are far more upstanding than I am.” And at that she laughs a bit, that Cheshire grin coming back to lift a corner of her lips. Hoping it is enough to ease whatever tensions she unleashed within the boy Upsetting the General already. she thinks, and there’s an annoying amount of agreement coming from Raven at that thought.

She considers moving off, to see if she can’t find anything of interest in this wasteland. Okay fine, not a wasteland. It’s beautiful really, just cool and boring at the moment. But Beloved’s answer catches her attention, and she listens to the mare with that grin on her face like Weaver knows something Beloved doesn’t. And she does. She knows that dying and rising again does not make you worth of reverence. It slowly shifts you into a cruel, impossible thing. Perhaps that explains her. She has died twice, and she had so little empathy to leave behind in the first place. Erebos fills in the gaps of Beloved story, and she nods at that, saying nothing more because she’s at least smart enough to know her words will likely cut, even though they are so rarely intended to do so.

You know when she intends to cut.

But there wouldn’t have been time, anyway. A roar breaks the silence and Weaver turns instantly. Erebor is already moving, horn down toward the bear. A black and white, rather large, girl that Weaver doesn’t know is reeling away, hiding behind the rest of the group. She wants to dive into the fight, to spread her wings that she never gets to use in this group of horses and attack from above. But there are many better trained than she, and she’s slightly afraid she’ll smash her own herdmates with a hoof instead of the bear. Instead, she turns to the mare who’d nearly gotten mauled by the mare. “Move,” she says, not unkindly, but firmly, getting the girl away from the bear and the group.

Weaver situates herself  between Vertigo and the bear, backing up slowly, hoping Vertigo would move. Would get herself out of harms way and leave Weaver there as a shield. She was a rather good shield, quite willing to die if necessary to protect. Ah, what would Beloved think of that, if she watched Weaver rise again? Would her own name cause so much reverence? Doubtful. But she’d be curious to know. Not that she’s trying to get herself killed by a damn bear today. There were enough of them here to stop the thing.

She keeps her head lowered, horns at the ready. Raven at least realized he needed to get the hell out of the way. He’d managed to fly up to a low branch, not quite skilled at flying yet, but at least capable of not getting himself killed. Her wings are slightly spread, hiding Vertigo, and she doesn’t fight without them anyway. They are an advantage she isn’t going to simply ignore because the horses around her don’t like them.

- weaver -