Blackwater Islands soldado

this felt like a good spot for archival <3

in a slow blink of their icy, seaglass eyes her honeyed, cloying tone was gone. the dreadfather picks up on the shift with a lift of their chin, a flare of their nostrils. they do not much care to wind back and see where her purls and their amusement ended: but it has.

she asks but they assume, by the change in the charge of the air that her interest has waned. and they have nothing left to speak.

for another day, they announce coolly. or not. this was spoken to communicate — as if their cool dismissal was not enough — that the change has not gone unnoticed by them.

they move to leave, but not before imparting unasked for wisdom: if you seek to rise in blackwater, if you wish to become more: hone your craft. collect secrets...of those outside our borders.