"Yes," an admission that rattles out of her but the least of them to a stranger, and how strange for her to be admitting it rather than confirming. Yes, I'm the Dragonborn and yes I can shout as loud as them to shake the heavens. Not that she'll demonstrate; if a guard in Skyrim got testy, what would a guard here do when the shape of her ears offends enough if she takes down her hood (and they don't seem to like her scuttling around hooded).
How to answer him though. Her face twists which isn't really anything to do with that, her face is the sort of face given to these types of uncomfortable expressions when something in the parade gets too loud - the bards in Skyrim were quiet, shut up if you paid, the college a sad little afterthought in Solitude - but she turns from it, gestures to walk. She likes walking. She doesn't need to think about the words in her mouth if she's paying attention to unfamiliar streets that way either. "Yes and no. A dragon knows them, I learn when I kill them but I went up the mountain after I killed my first dragon and it burned away before me, and the Greybeards called my name," if this sounds like a story but one that's been stripped back to the bone then that's because she hasn't any other way to lay bare the truths of her life; this is a thing that happened to her, she can't explain some of it, how fate and prophecy slid under her tongue and twisted about her the way they did. The notion uncomfortable in the telling. Rolling her shoulder until it pops to punctuate the silence, she carries on. "I went up the mountain and they told me what I was, what I could do. I-- I know the words when I see them, when I kill the dragons it's there in me but the Greybeards have a master, and the master is a dragon with wings of ash and snow falling that they keep safe, he fought his nature to be who he is."
The shadow of reverence in her voice, in the slant of her smile as a dagger catches the moonlight before it strikes true but still there, still very much there.
no subject
How to answer him though. Her face twists which isn't really anything to do with that, her face is the sort of face given to these types of uncomfortable expressions when something in the parade gets too loud - the bards in Skyrim were quiet, shut up if you paid, the college a sad little afterthought in Solitude - but she turns from it, gestures to walk. She likes walking. She doesn't need to think about the words in her mouth if she's paying attention to unfamiliar streets that way either. "Yes and no. A dragon knows them, I learn when I kill them but I went up the mountain after I killed my first dragon and it burned away before me, and the Greybeards called my name," if this sounds like a story but one that's been stripped back to the bone then that's because she hasn't any other way to lay bare the truths of her life; this is a thing that happened to her, she can't explain some of it, how fate and prophecy slid under her tongue and twisted about her the way they did. The notion uncomfortable in the telling. Rolling her shoulder until it pops to punctuate the silence, she carries on. "I went up the mountain and they told me what I was, what I could do. I-- I know the words when I see them, when I kill the dragons it's there in me but the Greybeards have a master, and the master is a dragon with wings of ash and snow falling that they keep safe, he fought his nature to be who he is."
The shadow of reverence in her voice, in the slant of her smile as a dagger catches the moonlight before it strikes true but still there, still very much there.