Sephiroth pauses as he catches sight of the large sword and the man holding it. A sword so large must be a SOLDIER's sword. An ordinary person couldn't wield it. There's something very familiar about it--and the man, to a lesser extent--but he can't quite say what it is. In any case, the familiarity draws him closer. He's moving more slowly now, walking rather than running over the cold ground.
When the man asks who he is, he hesitates. He's supposed to be traveling in secret, keeping himself hidden, not telling people his name. He almost retreats, but if it was familiarity that drew him, it's curiosity that keeps him where he is, watching and wondering. "Hello," he says instead.
"Is that your sword?" Sephiroth asks. If it is his, he hasn't taken good care of it. Sephiroth has been taught how to care for his weapons, and he knows better than that, a slight disapproving note in his youthful voice.
no subject
When the man asks who he is, he hesitates. He's supposed to be traveling in secret, keeping himself hidden, not telling people his name. He almost retreats, but if it was familiarity that drew him, it's curiosity that keeps him where he is, watching and wondering. "Hello," he says instead.
"Is that your sword?" Sephiroth asks. If it is his, he hasn't taken good care of it. Sephiroth has been taught how to care for his weapons, and he knows better than that, a slight disapproving note in his youthful voice.