ask no questions

There was a short, strange and horrible moment when she’d first come to Helovia that she didn’t have Raven. In her old home, Raven had been her mother’s creation, a constant babysitter that watched with her eyes and scolded with her voice. As Weaver had gone farther from home, the magic had faded, and he’d been more Raven than magic, not quite hers. Then, when she crossed into Helovia, he was simply gone. Though her resurrection wasn’t. Perhaps whatever stripped her of Raven couldn’t strip her of the mark on her chest, or the powers that mark conveyed.

She hadn’t been in Helovia long when she found the egg though, a little baby raven nestled inside. He was her Raven. More hers than he’d ever been, even. She has no idea if this is really true, but the bond was so instantaneous and familiar, his personality the same, that she’d never really doubted they were somehow one in the same. That this was how it was always meant to be. She would never admit aloud that Raven was half her soul, flitting about outside her body, but he was. She cares for him in a way she will never care for those above.

She listens to the mare talk, interested if only because this mare is certainly different. Because she seems like she might know quite a lot, if asked the right questions. Though she doesn’t ask any for a moment, just letting the other mare talk, answering the question Weaver had already asked. “Hell of a side effect. Better than glowing burns,” she says with a laugh. Though she secretly really likes her glowing burns, and she had no intention of letting Mortuus anywhere near them. No one needed to remove the cool, story-worthy scars.

The dragonmare introduces herself, and for a moment, Weaver just looks at the mare and the dragon that accompanies her. “You seem to have an affinity for dragons,” she says obviously, curious more about the why than the fact of it. But she doesn’t ask outright, giving the mare the option to elaborate or not. After all, Weaver had a thing for Ravens, though the reason for that had no interesting answer. She’d grown up with a mother that could control, create, and manipulate ravens (elemental and real, didn’t matter), and the affinity had just sort of stuck. “Weaver, and Raven.”  Raven caws, head cocked mostly in the direction of the dragon on Amaris back. Why? Because it is shiny, and Raven collects shiny things. She’s not entirely sure he understands the difference between collecting and friends. They are sort of one in the same for her curious little companion.

- weaver -

and you'll be told no lies