[Their hand lowers from their eye and goes to their other elbow, and that's the silent answer that he receives at first: Frisk hugging their elbows, staring at him quietly with now-unchecked tears down their face. Their eyes are a sharp red against the dark flush of their face, but the confusion in their brows is unmistakable, as calm and fragile as the kid in the back of the class who doesn't understand the question they've just been called on to answer.]
[When? Has that ever even happened? As long as they can remember, before the grooves of the knife hilt became familiar, when it was a stick, a glove, a frying pan. Fire - spears - bones - dust - wait. Wait, wait. Bones. Not ones washed in golden light, but - they do. They do know, and they respond with a shallow croak, like they're not sure the answer is the right one.]
no subject
[Their hand lowers from their eye and goes to their other elbow, and that's the silent answer that he receives at first: Frisk hugging their elbows, staring at him quietly with now-unchecked tears down their face. Their eyes are a sharp red against the dark flush of their face, but the confusion in their brows is unmistakable, as calm and fragile as the kid in the back of the class who doesn't understand the question they've just been called on to answer.]
[When? Has that ever even happened? As long as they can remember, before the grooves of the knife hilt became familiar, when it was a stick, a glove, a frying pan. Fire - spears - bones - dust - wait. Wait, wait. Bones. Not ones washed in golden light, but - they do. They do know, and they respond with a shallow croak, like they're not sure the answer is the right one.]
... Papyrus.