[Fivera looks back at Xio and, guessing at what she is looking for, holds up her arm horizontal to the ground. In the fabric at her forearm there is a little rip, a place that has been punctured by tiny bat teeth, small as grains of rice. No obvious blood. It is probably an equally tiny wound underneath the swaths of black and brown and burgundy fabric that Fivera shrouds herself in.]
It would be a nice jacket to be buried in. I pledge that we will leave it on you, when your hour comes. I will not let Xio steal or sell it.
no subject
[Fivera looks back at Xio and, guessing at what she is looking for, holds up her arm horizontal to the ground. In the fabric at her forearm there is a little rip, a place that has been punctured by tiny bat teeth, small as grains of rice. No obvious blood. It is probably an equally tiny wound underneath the swaths of black and brown and burgundy fabric that Fivera shrouds herself in.]
It would be a nice jacket to be buried in. I pledge that we will leave it on you, when your hour comes. I will not let Xio steal or sell it.