The raven haired swordswoman shifted unconsciously as she thought about all the factors that led to meeting and somehow… impressing her first and only love? Qatrand had never really questioned everything about it, because it had never felt necessary. A hand moved to steady her sword hilt as the other set of fingers pressed and traced along the length of the scabbard.
The replica of one of their heirlooms - rather, the sword made just for *her* inside the comforting shell of such a thing… had not endured the fate the brunette girl feared. Yet, it was also true that the 'reason' for that not only lay in the honor of her family but in the secrets of it she kept.
