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It draws a snort from Attolia, a noise that sits ill with the grave beauty of her face - to those who don’t know her well, perhaps, but that number does not include Eddis.
“I thought it an apt comparison,” she says, grinning, tipping her head back and tossing bright mountain berries through the air to catch them in her open mouth as Gen had taught her when they were small, mostly just to see the look on Attolia’s face, “for you are as smooth and lovely as the one, while I am rough and homely as the other.”
“And you are practical, useful, and well-regarded, while I am too sharp to be touched by unwary hands?” Attolia responds, and tosses her own fruit in a graceful arc, catching it between her neat white teeth; Gen always could handle any blade, no matter how cutting, Eddis reflects, and grins.