His child skitters, butterfly light across the meadow. The grasses barely stir beneath her slender limbs as she flutters by. Raum thinks there is no wind that can catch her, no light enough to stray from the bright of her. Sabine commands the light and about her the shadows dance; this child of his was light and dark, air and earth.
It is only the tip of his daughter’s new blade that stops her path. Upon those long, long limbs she slips and slides to a sudden stop. The air hisses as her catches in her lungs. A slow smile creeps across the Crow’s silver lips. There is no sharpness, no glint of the steel he inflicts upon everyone else (even Rhoswen). Oh no, this child is the only one who can soften him and inspire a smile so soft, so warm enough it melts the ice of his manner.
Raum waits for her eyes to fall to the blade before slowly it lowers, hovering for her to take, and she does, readily. He has trained his daughter well. Those china-blue eyes drink in the weapon as blue flames lick cool, cool, cool over every intricacy of the fine blade. His child’s smile is bright and brilliant, scattering the darkness seething across his skin when she asks if it is hers forever.
“Of course.” The quicksilver man says with no delay. Then, with a trick he has seen Acton perform so many times, he appears a fine silver belt from behind her small ear and brings it before her. “But every dagger needs a belt in which to be carried.” He turns it to show her a silver buckle upon the end of the short silver band. It was long enough only for a child’s limb. “You wear it about your leg, see?” And her shows her his own, where the blade rests against the silver of his skin. “Then it is always within reach.”
Through sea-blue eyes he watches his daughter’s smile fade at the mention of her mother. A sigh escapes him. He knew the fire of Rhoswen, he had weathered it since he was a child. The Crow knew what it cost to love such a woman. Sabine did not.
His lips lower, smoothing across his daughter’s fawn brow. “I have no doubt she will disapprove.” Then lower, in a whisper, he smirks softly as he meets her blue-sea gaze with his own darker, stormier look. “And that is why it will be our secret. Leave your mother to me, Sabine.”
The Crow watches the dark shadows of conflict that brew in the corners of her eyes and line the delicate carvings of her young face. “She loves you, you know. Things are just hard for her at the moment, Sabi.”
And with that Raum might have left it. But the girl’s curiosity returns and hangs upon her new blade as she asks him of his father. There had been no male figure in Raum’s life. There was no maternal figure either... Raum was an orphan Crow, like them all, until Sabine. She might be the only child amongst the Crows with parents.
“No.” He answers his daughter softly. “I never knew my father, or mother. It is why I am a Crow. Do you remember I told you we were all orphans once? You are the only special one with a mother and a father.”
He paused for a moment, surveying his elven child from on high. “Now tell me, have you been practicing what uncle Acton showed you?”
@Sabine all the adorbs
It is only the tip of his daughter’s new blade that stops her path. Upon those long, long limbs she slips and slides to a sudden stop. The air hisses as her catches in her lungs. A slow smile creeps across the Crow’s silver lips. There is no sharpness, no glint of the steel he inflicts upon everyone else (even Rhoswen). Oh no, this child is the only one who can soften him and inspire a smile so soft, so warm enough it melts the ice of his manner.
Raum waits for her eyes to fall to the blade before slowly it lowers, hovering for her to take, and she does, readily. He has trained his daughter well. Those china-blue eyes drink in the weapon as blue flames lick cool, cool, cool over every intricacy of the fine blade. His child’s smile is bright and brilliant, scattering the darkness seething across his skin when she asks if it is hers forever.
“Of course.” The quicksilver man says with no delay. Then, with a trick he has seen Acton perform so many times, he appears a fine silver belt from behind her small ear and brings it before her. “But every dagger needs a belt in which to be carried.” He turns it to show her a silver buckle upon the end of the short silver band. It was long enough only for a child’s limb. “You wear it about your leg, see?” And her shows her his own, where the blade rests against the silver of his skin. “Then it is always within reach.”
Through sea-blue eyes he watches his daughter’s smile fade at the mention of her mother. A sigh escapes him. He knew the fire of Rhoswen, he had weathered it since he was a child. The Crow knew what it cost to love such a woman. Sabine did not.
His lips lower, smoothing across his daughter’s fawn brow. “I have no doubt she will disapprove.” Then lower, in a whisper, he smirks softly as he meets her blue-sea gaze with his own darker, stormier look. “And that is why it will be our secret. Leave your mother to me, Sabine.”
The Crow watches the dark shadows of conflict that brew in the corners of her eyes and line the delicate carvings of her young face. “She loves you, you know. Things are just hard for her at the moment, Sabi.”
And with that Raum might have left it. But the girl’s curiosity returns and hangs upon her new blade as she asks him of his father. There had been no male figure in Raum’s life. There was no maternal figure either... Raum was an orphan Crow, like them all, until Sabine. She might be the only child amongst the Crows with parents.
“No.” He answers his daughter softly. “I never knew my father, or mother. It is why I am a Crow. Do you remember I told you we were all orphans once? You are the only special one with a mother and a father.”
He paused for a moment, surveying his elven child from on high. “Now tell me, have you been practicing what uncle Acton showed you?”
@
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
