[You're not going to die, he says... But he does not know that. Zenith counted psychotic "researchers", demons, drug lords, and honorless opportunists all through their number... and if a Zenite finds her before her own then she is an easy target. If a centipede or mantis came around... she is food. If her own body betrays her...]
You do not-
[She starts to say it, that he cannot guarantee that to her, that the risk is why she needs the blade... but he keeps speaking, and she bites her lip with sharp, inhuman canines, cursing the fact that... that she had made promises to try an survive. (Why did people even care anyway, why did they want her to live so badly, when living was so much harder than the honorable death she'd always been taught to admire?) Cursing that a part of her feels almost happy to hear that if Amos killed her he would see to her shard.
So she is worth only an arrow or her own teeth digging into her tongue until she chokes on her own blood. Messy, less sure ways to die that will prolong the effort, potentially fail... But again, she cannot feel righteous in being offended. An Oracle is at stake. She and Amos understood that. She just wants to, wants someone to understand what it meant to her.]
I know it is yours. It is because it is yours that I ask for it.
[... What did that mean?
She tears her gaze from him, to look down the hill of dirt he had helped her up with his weight magic. Down there somewhere... her arrows had spilled from her quiver in the fall. She could ask him to retrieve one for her... but it's humiliating. Almost as humiliating as needing to end her life at all, at not being able to defend herself. So she spitefully (to whom?) refuses to ask. If he leaves her weaponless... she will just have to drag her weakening body down there herself, no matter how painful movement was.
So... it is decided, then, wasn't it. Her head turns back around, but it takes a moment for her to look at him again. To find the words to say something steady, when instead she wants to rail against her loss.]
... You are the victor. It is your decision.
[If he moves to take it from her... She will not resist.]
no subject
You do not-
[She starts to say it, that he cannot guarantee that to her, that the risk is why she needs the blade... but he keeps speaking, and she bites her lip with sharp, inhuman canines, cursing the fact that... that she had made promises to try an survive. (Why did people even care anyway, why did they want her to live so badly, when living was so much harder than the honorable death she'd always been taught to admire?) Cursing that a part of her feels almost happy to hear that if Amos killed her he would see to her shard.
So she is worth only an arrow or her own teeth digging into her tongue until she chokes on her own blood. Messy, less sure ways to die that will prolong the effort, potentially fail... But again, she cannot feel righteous in being offended. An Oracle is at stake. She and Amos understood that. She just wants to, wants someone to understand what it meant to her.]
I know it is yours. It is because it is yours that I ask for it.
[... What did that mean?
She tears her gaze from him, to look down the hill of dirt he had helped her up with his weight magic. Down there somewhere... her arrows had spilled from her quiver in the fall. She could ask him to retrieve one for her... but it's humiliating. Almost as humiliating as needing to end her life at all, at not being able to defend herself. So she spitefully (to whom?) refuses to ask. If he leaves her weaponless... she will just have to drag her weakening body down there herself, no matter how painful movement was.
So... it is decided, then, wasn't it. Her head turns back around, but it takes a moment for her to look at him again. To find the words to say something steady, when instead she wants to rail against her loss.]
... You are the victor. It is your decision.
[If he moves to take it from her... She will not resist.]