When you make a mistake with metal,
you can melt things down and start anew
you can melt things down and start anew
Fury poured from every inch of the large, winged mare before her. Fury was as ravenous and often as uncontrollable as a wildfire. Her words intended to burn rifts of ire in Cordelia's skin. The smaller mare does not flinch as the beast bellows unto her, lathering part of her face with saliva. It mingles with the sweat on her pale golden brow. Cordelia's smile remains in place as the mare unloads on her, brandishing a sword tottering near the hilt. It is a poor, broken thing. She doesn't respond to the mare's anger. Cordelia knows the heat and frustration that boils in the blood of all good warriors. She knows the stagnant taste of disappointment in oneself as much as she knows the taste when it comes from others.
"That poor sword of yours, don't they give you better weapons to train with?" Cordelia ignores the white-hot fury this mare brandishes as expertly as the old adventurer brandishes a blade.
"Give that to me, and take my blade instead. You soldiers deserve better than these old things." She dotes on the stranger. As if she is deserving of any display of kindness or compassion. Cordelia sees no need to chastise the blade-wielding mare.
All youth learn these harsh lessons. Time shapes their reality as much as a lathe crafts wood. Cordelia does not wait for permission. Patience has never suited her. She is not delicate.
She extends herself upwards onto her hind daggers. She moves to pry the tattered sword from the grip of the "shit-stacked" sky-bird in exchange for her blade that is in much better condition.
Her friend will understand her desire to make this right.
@Sabrina
<3
"That poor sword of yours, don't they give you better weapons to train with?" Cordelia ignores the white-hot fury this mare brandishes as expertly as the old adventurer brandishes a blade.
"Give that to me, and take my blade instead. You soldiers deserve better than these old things." She dotes on the stranger. As if she is deserving of any display of kindness or compassion. Cordelia sees no need to chastise the blade-wielding mare.
All youth learn these harsh lessons. Time shapes their reality as much as a lathe crafts wood. Cordelia does not wait for permission. Patience has never suited her. She is not delicate.
She extends herself upwards onto her hind daggers. She moves to pry the tattered sword from the grip of the "shit-stacked" sky-bird in exchange for her blade that is in much better condition.
Her friend will understand her desire to make this right.
@Sabrina
<3
