[ Alia conjures an image with her words, evocative in a way that skirts close to the edge of memory: fireflies winking against a backdrop of hazy twilight, night-blooming flowers and frog-song. It takes Shadowheart by surprise, and that flickers across her features before she can school them, her heel near-slipping in the mud as she takes a small step back.
But it's more of a sense-memory than a linear moment in time. The edges of it curl away like smoke, until there's nothing left but the woman and frog in front of her, real as anything despite this entire place having the quality of a strange waking dream.
Shadowheart lets go of a soft exhale, face sliding back into a more guarded mask. ]
I suppose. [ She steps toward the reeds, her gaze on the little frog in Alia's hands. ] They remind me of someone I know.
[ Lae'zel, whom she wouldn't call a friend, exactly, though there's an edge of fondness to her voice. She wouldn't like the comparison. ]
no subject
But it's more of a sense-memory than a linear moment in time. The edges of it curl away like smoke, until there's nothing left but the woman and frog in front of her, real as anything despite this entire place having the quality of a strange waking dream.
Shadowheart lets go of a soft exhale, face sliding back into a more guarded mask. ]
I suppose. [ She steps toward the reeds, her gaze on the little frog in Alia's hands. ] They remind me of someone I know.
[ Lae'zel, whom she wouldn't call a friend, exactly, though there's an edge of fondness to her voice. She wouldn't like the comparison. ]