( Shem, a word she had not quite forgotten before the Spire fell, but that was more a distant, strange memory, almost faded away and brought hurtling back into familiarity. She wasn't fond of it; it sits uncomfortably on her skin, a dirt she can't scrub off, but she says nothing. The elves are the wronged, she is human, she must live with the title the humans have won themselves, with all their victories. )
Humans enjoy far too much in excess. Perhaps as much can be said for their beards.
( And belonging, familiarity, twisted together with a strange, desperate need to be accepted by people she is not sure she is worthy of; their language, their myths. She cannot quite make herself say shem, not reliably, but she can mock humans in the general sense, at certain times, their excesses an innocent target. All the same, it sticks guiltily in her throat, though, like indulging this childish side might go against some of the morals, ideals, the rules she holds so dear, even as she knows that in the general sense, humans are not victims when set against the elves.
Maker, sometimes she despises the shape of her bones and the way her skin stretches over them more than she can rightly say, when absurd feelings tug at her. It was easier to say nothing, to speak only on the most crucial points, and that was not easy when engaging socially rather than simply as a knight ever on the move and never long in one place.
Discomfort feels all the more stark when behind held up on someone's shoulder, instead of being free to move. Helpfully, she turns Seoraj's head the way they should go. ) There's a tavern, this way.
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Humans enjoy far too much in excess. Perhaps as much can be said for their beards.
( And belonging, familiarity, twisted together with a strange, desperate need to be accepted by people she is not sure she is worthy of; their language, their myths. She cannot quite make herself say shem, not reliably, but she can mock humans in the general sense, at certain times, their excesses an innocent target. All the same, it sticks guiltily in her throat, though, like indulging this childish side might go against some of the morals, ideals, the rules she holds so dear, even as she knows that in the general sense, humans are not victims when set against the elves.
Maker, sometimes she despises the shape of her bones and the way her skin stretches over them more than she can rightly say, when absurd feelings tug at her. It was easier to say nothing, to speak only on the most crucial points, and that was not easy when engaging socially rather than simply as a knight ever on the move and never long in one place.
Discomfort feels all the more stark when behind held up on someone's shoulder, instead of being free to move. Helpfully, she turns Seoraj's head the way they should go. ) There's a tavern, this way.