"Do you understand what it is to be one? Only I wonder if I have ever met a knight at all here." Her sigh echoes in the room more than she means it to; all the stories of brave knights, of honour and valour and chivalry that leave her grimacing and in need of rum to wash the taste out when she finishes her studies for the day. It's easy to guess what a knight would say of most of her home but she'd still take honesty over all of that. Honesty isn't upholding someone then butchering the people that can't defend themselves. What good is a vow when it does nothing to help those truly in need?
She takes up the next comb, works it through Herian's hair before she speaks again, close to her ear when she catches that motion. (Her parents daughter, and they their parents' children before them, there is nothing she won't miss in the water.) "Calma," her voice is low and easy, even if she doesn't feel that way, "calma."
One last check of Herian's hair - sleek for the moment, the cramp in her fingers that she last felt when she returned herself rom the Mire and scraped mud and things she didn't want to think about then or now from it standing testament to that - and she sets down the comb in the basket again. The steam has warmed the oil but when she pours a generous quantity into her hands she rubs them together just to be certain, moving to shift her weight when her legs start going to sleep. The noise she makes as she massages the oil in is an agreeing one. All of those mages are her friends now but even if they weren't? She can't stand to see anyone hurting that way.
"I live in hope that with enough hard work that such things will never be repeated. I am not afraid to roll up my sleeves and pitch in as necessary." The cheer is false but she's determined, that much is plain even if knowing where to start when no one even wants to agree is utterly daunting at times.
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She takes up the next comb, works it through Herian's hair before she speaks again, close to her ear when she catches that motion. (Her parents daughter, and they their parents' children before them, there is nothing she won't miss in the water.) "Calma," her voice is low and easy, even if she doesn't feel that way, "calma."
One last check of Herian's hair - sleek for the moment, the cramp in her fingers that she last felt when she returned herself rom the Mire and scraped mud and things she didn't want to think about then or now from it standing testament to that - and she sets down the comb in the basket again. The steam has warmed the oil but when she pours a generous quantity into her hands she rubs them together just to be certain, moving to shift her weight when her legs start going to sleep. The noise she makes as she massages the oil in is an agreeing one. All of those mages are her friends now but even if they weren't? She can't stand to see anyone hurting that way.
"I live in hope that with enough hard work that such things will never be repeated. I am not afraid to roll up my sleeves and pitch in as necessary." The cheer is false but she's determined, that much is plain even if knowing where to start when no one even wants to agree is utterly daunting at times.