She's easily prone to amusement, perhaps, watching someone make rudimentary steps in an area she's known since her weaving, but this isn't the pampered child of an aristocrat calling themselves the greatest minstrel known to bugkind when they can hardly hold a harp straight. As such, this is perhaps a feast of relatively unguarded sincerity from her, and yet, there's sincerity to their efforts, as well.
She watches them attempt (and what an arm that little thing has, easily taking a piece out of the stone, and the nail no worse for wear, every delicate-looking carving still pristine), reevaluate and strike again, and then they seem to get the hang of it, even with a weapon not really designed for resonance.
"Well, it certainly seems like you have an ear for it already." Useful, that this is so far out in the wilds. Closer to Pharloom's heart, making such a ruckus would attract... dubious attention. Out here, the only thing to hear them are moss beasts, really. Not much of a discerning audience, that.
She hums, flicking her pin upward in the air to the first position and calls a ringing butterfly out of the ambient light. It lands on her free hand, opening and closing its wings.
no subject
She watches them attempt (and what an arm that little thing has, easily taking a piece out of the stone, and the nail no worse for wear, every delicate-looking carving still pristine), reevaluate and strike again, and then they seem to get the hang of it, even with a weapon not really designed for resonance.
"Well, it certainly seems like you have an ear for it already." Useful, that this is so far out in the wilds. Closer to Pharloom's heart, making such a ruckus would attract... dubious attention. Out here, the only thing to hear them are moss beasts, really. Not much of a discerning audience, that.
She hums, flicking her pin upward in the air to the first position and calls a ringing butterfly out of the ambient light. It lands on her free hand, opening and closing its wings.