![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shesapir8[It's just an ordinary morning when she wakes up. The only thing different is that she stirs before the Summoner, carefully stealing her way out of their bed and his arms to stand in the centre of their small room. It's not the largest she's had, nor the best decorated but it's a place she's called home for quite a few sweeps. The only other place she had ever though of in that way was the cabin of her ship, with all it's finery and space and even then... she prefers this little shack they share, with just enough room for the things they absolutely must have.
She prefers it because it's theirs, not just hers. She prefers it for he's here.
The moon is only just starting to peek out and carefully Mindfang stretches, crossing to watch the sunset as she fully wakes. Her messy tangle of hair is no longer a pure black, small streaks of silver threading their way though in their own little pattern. Her naked skin, covered with blue scars is starting to loose it's firmness, softness appearing were only straight lines once were. There's a slight ache in her shoulder where metal meets flesh and she knows her blinded eye would look a deeper red is she was to check. She's getting old, a laughable concept when she's lived through so much, seen so much and done so much. She's been old for many sweeps, but it's only recently that she's begun to look old. And even as she accepts it, she loathes it, loathes the weaknesses that seem to now come, how her body becomes less agile, her feet slower.
Absent-mindedly she brushes her hair over her shoulder, the tangle covering the tattoo of a long dead rival and combs her fingers through it. Now she turns back to him, watching the Summoner sleep, the last of daylight fading into orange. She should wake him, prepare for the night. They don't have time to spare these days, especially not when they'll be a battle any day. She should wake him.
Instead she just watches, a genuine smile playing on her lips.]
She prefers it because it's theirs, not just hers. She prefers it for he's here.
The moon is only just starting to peek out and carefully Mindfang stretches, crossing to watch the sunset as she fully wakes. Her messy tangle of hair is no longer a pure black, small streaks of silver threading their way though in their own little pattern. Her naked skin, covered with blue scars is starting to loose it's firmness, softness appearing were only straight lines once were. There's a slight ache in her shoulder where metal meets flesh and she knows her blinded eye would look a deeper red is she was to check. She's getting old, a laughable concept when she's lived through so much, seen so much and done so much. She's been old for many sweeps, but it's only recently that she's begun to look old. And even as she accepts it, she loathes it, loathes the weaknesses that seem to now come, how her body becomes less agile, her feet slower.
Absent-mindedly she brushes her hair over her shoulder, the tangle covering the tattoo of a long dead rival and combs her fingers through it. Now she turns back to him, watching the Summoner sleep, the last of daylight fading into orange. She should wake him, prepare for the night. They don't have time to spare these days, especially not when they'll be a battle any day. She should wake him.
Instead she just watches, a genuine smile playing on her lips.]