[She wishes she could say the claim struck true, but there's simply nothing there to resonate with. The only proof she really has is this bizarre physical acceptance, as if something rooted in her spine says 'safe'.
She hurries to keep up. His stride is much longer than hers, and he does not seem inclined to wait. She falls into a step-and-a-half pattern as if that's second nature, too.]
What kind of sensitive matter? What exactly am I meant to craft and, ah, how?
[both of those statements imply she has some level of skill at...something. She looks down at her hands as they walk, turning them over to search for callouses or marks of a trade. What is it that she does?
Wait. She's skipped something fundamental, here. She grabs hold of the man's elbow, unease seeping into her questions for the first time:] I have a name, don't I? I must have?
no subject
She hurries to keep up. His stride is much longer than hers, and he does not seem inclined to wait. She falls into a step-and-a-half pattern as if that's second nature, too.]
What kind of sensitive matter? What exactly am I meant to craft and, ah, how?
[both of those statements imply she has some level of skill at...something. She looks down at her hands as they walk, turning them over to search for callouses or marks of a trade. What is it that she does?
Wait. She's skipped something fundamental, here. She grabs hold of the man's elbow, unease seeping into her questions for the first time:] I have a name, don't I? I must have?