OOCWelcome back, Snarl!
Alses blinked at the deeply, deeply odd creature staring at her from a short distance away, still wary of the scythe she'd never actually swung in anger.
It took her a few moments to untangle Snarl's terrible speech, with its odd synonyms and structure, as though he'd learned from a book but never actually spoken properly with someone. She'd hit a nerve, it seemed, second-guessing his nature. 'Good,' she thought, slightly uncharitably. 'Keep him off balance.'
Of course, there was probably a very fine line between 'off-balance' and 'attack'.
“Lhavit's been attacked several times by your kind,” she replied tartly, once she'd sorted the slightly mangled sentences out in her head. “Shrieking flocks of you trying to gut the citizens and carry off the Okomo. Caution dictates we treat you the same until we have evidence to the contrary.” She wouldn't apologise – pride and uncertainty made sure of that, one of her many failings.
“Count yourself lucky we're not a Shinya; you'd have been speared on the end of a glaive long ago.” She cocked her head to listen more closely to the chittering ramblings of the strange Zith – Snarl – still perched in a tree, looking for all the world like a monstrous bird.
“Stinky plant? Do you perhaps mean the sky pilot?” she asked coolly, more to give herself thinking room than anything else, still bristling from the insult to her intelligence. “It does smell awful,” she allowed, “But prepared properly it helps lowlander mortals cope with the heights of Lhavit.” She shrugged slightly, still keeping her grip on her weapon.
“Something about the altitude plays hell with their bodies. I never had any trouble, but then we're Ethaefal.” Her tone made it abundantly clear that that was far superior to a lowlander, or indeed a mortal for that matter.
“We're gathering – or rather, attempting to gather – it to help the lowlander members of the Respite. It's an organization, a group of people, not one person.” A small, superior smile flickered across her face then – it really was hard not to feel superior when Snarl clearly knew very little about...well...proper living, for a start.
'Claws, Alse,' her brain reminded her, sharply. 'Rending, tearing claws and wings. He could take our head off in seconds, if I let him get close enough.' Alses winced – she forgot that little detail at her peril. Sometimes, natural abilities could knock civilisation into a cocked hat, and this, alas, was one of those times. For all her power and skill with auristics, a supremely civilised discipline, it simply wasn't of any offensive use whatsoever. Out here, so close to a Zith and with no real method of escape, it was about as useful as a toffee hammer.
A pause. “You're really a Zith? Why are your fellows such barbarians, then?” 'And why are you not?' was the unspoken rider, hanging in the air.
Alses blinked at the deeply, deeply odd creature staring at her from a short distance away, still wary of the scythe she'd never actually swung in anger.
It took her a few moments to untangle Snarl's terrible speech, with its odd synonyms and structure, as though he'd learned from a book but never actually spoken properly with someone. She'd hit a nerve, it seemed, second-guessing his nature. 'Good,' she thought, slightly uncharitably. 'Keep him off balance.'
Of course, there was probably a very fine line between 'off-balance' and 'attack'.
“Lhavit's been attacked several times by your kind,” she replied tartly, once she'd sorted the slightly mangled sentences out in her head. “Shrieking flocks of you trying to gut the citizens and carry off the Okomo. Caution dictates we treat you the same until we have evidence to the contrary.” She wouldn't apologise – pride and uncertainty made sure of that, one of her many failings.
“Count yourself lucky we're not a Shinya; you'd have been speared on the end of a glaive long ago.” She cocked her head to listen more closely to the chittering ramblings of the strange Zith – Snarl – still perched in a tree, looking for all the world like a monstrous bird.
“Stinky plant? Do you perhaps mean the sky pilot?” she asked coolly, more to give herself thinking room than anything else, still bristling from the insult to her intelligence. “It does smell awful,” she allowed, “But prepared properly it helps lowlander mortals cope with the heights of Lhavit.” She shrugged slightly, still keeping her grip on her weapon.
“Something about the altitude plays hell with their bodies. I never had any trouble, but then we're Ethaefal.” Her tone made it abundantly clear that that was far superior to a lowlander, or indeed a mortal for that matter.
“We're gathering – or rather, attempting to gather – it to help the lowlander members of the Respite. It's an organization, a group of people, not one person.” A small, superior smile flickered across her face then – it really was hard not to feel superior when Snarl clearly knew very little about...well...proper living, for a start.
'Claws, Alse,' her brain reminded her, sharply. 'Rending, tearing claws and wings. He could take our head off in seconds, if I let him get close enough.' Alses winced – she forgot that little detail at her peril. Sometimes, natural abilities could knock civilisation into a cocked hat, and this, alas, was one of those times. For all her power and skill with auristics, a supremely civilised discipline, it simply wasn't of any offensive use whatsoever. Out here, so close to a Zith and with no real method of escape, it was about as useful as a toffee hammer.
A pause. “You're really a Zith? Why are your fellows such barbarians, then?” 'And why are you not?' was the unspoken rider, hanging in the air.
