Ash studied a piece of broken crystal next to her, picking it up and weighing it lightly in her hand. It didn’t seem too heavy, but the feel of it made her wary, and so she tossed it into one of the pools below, narrowly missing striking an emerging Beowolf in the head. She turned her attention to the tar-like pools, frowning slightly. The Grimm were never bothered by her, even though she was sitting in quite clear view, just up above on a wide ledge.
Part of her knew it was because she was Grimm too, though even then she understood not all of her was Grimm. At least, that was what she thought the flickers of deep red in her dark Aura were, at any rate. She glanced upwards, directing her gaze towards the Mistress’s hall; she hadn’t been asked to attend, but she didn’t really want to plan, anyways. If they told her to go fight someone, she would. That was what she was here for, as far as she knew--she was a warrior, an arrow to be pointed at the enemy.
The girl’s frown deepened. She brushed her fingers against the thick scar across her chest, quickly returning her attention to the Grimm. She wasn’t so sure that she cared for what the Mistress intended, but neither could she see that humanity had really done much, either. She huffed out a long sigh; that war didn’t really concern her unless the Mistress asked her to do something about it. She knew she couldn’t refuse that, even if all she wanted to do was find someone worthy to fight.
She heard the sound of footsteps approaching and climbed reluctantly to her feet, having to do an awkward sidestep to get her bad leg to carry her weight like it should. She blinked at the sight of familiar green hair--Emerald, her mind supplied, one of the Fall Maiden’s lackeys. She supposed there was something she was being asked to do--was it finding a particular Huntsman or Huntress, she considered, or perhaps to return to Vale to observe the frozen Grimm Dragon?
She fixed her eyes on Emerald, tilting her head. “Ye-es?” she managed to ask, though she couldn’t be entirely sure that the word, dragged into two syllables, wasn’t swallowed in the mangled sound of her voice, and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
