[ bloodiedwolf ]

       she’s silent – registering only that she’s heard, but giving no answer –
       until at last her feet carry her as far as the wolfswood, away from curious
       ears save those of the beasts that are half her kin ; the howling, the snow,
       the sharp, crisp smell of pine in her nose, and the warm musk of elk and
       deer beneath that sets her mouth to watering even when visenya isn’t by
       her side, it all serves to remind lyanna of her purpose here. ( her own place
       of secrets, a city of ice amidst the trees – where she goes when the abyss,
       the abscess, of no one grows to be too deep and dark and loud and hungry
       within her ; to remember lyanna, to drag her back from wherever she goes
       when she slips between scarred, callused fingers like sand, like ash, like the
       fragile powder of incense, no matter how she may try to grasp at the remnants.

       sometimes all she needs is to be quiet and breathe. )

       pallor, though spiderweb-veined and fatigue-bruised, of her
       eyelids slides closed for a moment, two, until lyanna pivots
       to face her erstwhile companion in full ; flicks them open onto
       something coldly patient, gaze keen and searching as a knife
       scraping through, past the ribs, into the innards.

image

                  ‘ you can start by telling me the truth. the real
                      truth. i know what you are, and you’re no sell-
                      -sword or hedge knight. ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        Front bides unchanging still with reintroduction of iciness. Courage,
    she had, once a boy, to question a man — dare she anew? Faint, faint,
    faint twist of lips’ edges etched upon visage as black sand atop white
    in a children’s toy, unable to fade unless shaken violently. In midst of
    mindly conflict does the man, the hollow object ( naught but a servant,
     naught but a servant. Naught but loyal, naught but loyal ) think to part
    his lips and speak; ought not, for better would he be to mull upon over
    her words, think his out carefully.

        Again, silence prevails. Comfortable … questionable. Aforementioned
    quietude  all  the  same  lingers  like  a knife dangling from a fine  string,
    hanging quietly, harmfully above the man’s flesh and sinew and bones.
    ( Threatening what, exactly? His image? His reputation? With a brush
    of finger a man could be a man no more; and so, he remains impassive. )

        He provisionally chooses to feast upon her reaction to his ensuing
    question — a wanting response he is aware, but a response withal.
    To bend so easily, so quickly? Not he.

image

        “ If that is the case, who is a man?”

 

R U L E

INDEPENDENT
JAQEN H'GHAR
OF GRRM'S
A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Y O U R

LOW ACTIVITY.
MULTI-EVERYTHING.
#INFERUXS

F A C E.

PLEASE READ
LINKS 02., 04., AND 06.
BEFORE INTERATCION.