i make it a practice to learn all i can of my foes. ( saera + ah-rin )
saera's features shutter behind a cold mask, lips pressing into a thin line. the greyjoy did not endeavour to hold herself at a distance, it simply became that way. "you are welcome to try," they say, solemnity writ into the stern of their face. she was impenetrable against the harlaw's sharp grin, willing herself to be the iron she was cut from. discourse clung to their two houses in the fashion of a stubborn garden of barnacles, latching still even under the force of a blade scrapping. saera did not like to taunt the harlaws, did not want to feed into their anger. they did not want to tempt them to steal their justice, taking her son in payment. "i wish you luck."
