Most of them seem to be no more than idle scribblings, vague figures of people, or horses, or the blocky shape of Kirkwall's unrelenting statuary. A few seem more extensive, renderings in common charcoal and the rare bit of ink. Beleth's face is easily recognizable, lined with loving familiarity, next to the graceful bend of a Halla's ear, or a somewhat incorrect image of a ship in the harbor-- something wrong in the rigging, or the way the sails bend. It's rough there, as if Sorrel gave it several tries and settled on its current form with only grudging satisfaction.
There is a sound, from the back room as if someone had thrown something softish and hit the wall.
They're quite good, some of them, but seem to have all been given little consideration, the black made cloudy-grey in many places where simple, careless friction has rendered what was good into a blur almost beyond comprehension. One or two are torn some ways down, as if a strip had been taken out of the paper for some unknowable reason.
"Found it!" Sorrel makes his return, carrying a soft brown something in one hand, about the size of a very flat kitten, "Now, I know these were gifts. But where I'm from we like to give in turn, where we can. I don't know if it works the same in kirkwall..."
no subject
Most of them seem to be no more than idle scribblings, vague figures of people, or horses, or the blocky shape of Kirkwall's unrelenting statuary. A few seem more extensive, renderings in common charcoal and the rare bit of ink. Beleth's face is easily recognizable, lined with loving familiarity, next to the graceful bend of a Halla's ear, or a somewhat incorrect image of a ship in the harbor-- something wrong in the rigging, or the way the sails bend. It's rough there, as if Sorrel gave it several tries and settled on its current form with only grudging satisfaction.
There is a sound, from the back room as if someone had thrown something softish and hit the wall.
They're quite good, some of them, but seem to have all been given little consideration, the black made cloudy-grey in many places where simple, careless friction has rendered what was good into a blur almost beyond comprehension. One or two are torn some ways down, as if a strip had been taken out of the paper for some unknowable reason.
"Found it!" Sorrel makes his return, carrying a soft brown something in one hand, about the size of a very flat kitten, "Now, I know these were gifts. But where I'm from we like to give in turn, where we can. I don't know if it works the same in kirkwall..."