Compared to what usually happened in her life of late - dragons blasting her with their frozen breath after she shouted them down, filled them with arrows when they took to the skies once more - this is simple. To raise her hand, to draw the breath--
Without thinking she speaks, "Breath and focus," as if Paarthurnax atop the Throat of the World might be proud of her all this way away but Brónach is the bones of the earth, able to pull from deep inside herself.
A touch of something not quite a person when the pain has her shouting. Her arm trembles worse than bandits three days into a skooma binge but the rift is shimmering, pulsing with sick green light until she collapses to her knees, chest heaving. "Drem." As close to a request as she ever allows herself, too aware of the sweat slicking her skin with more beasts about in the presence of a stranger.
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Without thinking she speaks, "Breath and focus," as if Paarthurnax atop the Throat of the World might be proud of her all this way away but Brónach is the bones of the earth, able to pull from deep inside herself.
A touch of something not quite a person when the pain has her shouting. Her arm trembles worse than bandits three days into a skooma binge but the rift is shimmering, pulsing with sick green light until she collapses to her knees, chest heaving. "Drem." As close to a request as she ever allows herself, too aware of the sweat slicking her skin with more beasts about in the presence of a stranger.