A relaxed sigh from her side before she picked up her work again. Still not looking up, seemingly not acknowledging his existence if it wasnât for her words that were clearly directed at him. After all there was just the two of them here. She held up the frame and examined her work for a moment until she finally answered.
âButterflies are precious creatures. They come in so many colors, shapes, sizes, and yet they all flutter around in search for sweet nectar. They are so fragile, and so unaware of their own fragility. Spiders, on the other hand, are very patient creatures. They craft their nets with dedication, then they hide and wait in the dark, hours, days, sometimes months. Insects are a lot like people, you know? The question is whether we are more like butterflies or like spiders. After all, one eats the other.â And for a second, a net of silvery shimmering strings could be seen, surrounding her like a web, before disappearing again.
She chuckled to herself and finally turned her head to look at the stranger with a friendly, yet somehow uneasy smile. âThen why are you here, if you donât mind me asking?â Slowly she put her work aside and folded her hands together, hiding them under the long sleeves of her dress, patiently waiting for an answer.
So she was comparing them to humans, was she? To victims and assassins-or perhaps to soldiers-respectively. What an Ionian way to think and speak. What a useless analogy. And a disgusting one-the thought of someone being eaten was something even noxians didnât enjoy, Talon in particular feeling uneasy at that.
He watched as the net flashed. Magic, no doubt. He hated magic. It never worked for him, but it always seemed to work against him. Something Talon could never have a safety against, a way to escape. It would always be a weakness of his he couldnât fix.
Heâd need to be careful of that if things went sour. âCut the shit,â he said with a glare. âI came here because word is you know what happened to General Marcus Du Couteau.â