He didn’t like it – either Kiada’s approach or the bizarre situation, holding in a thousand breaths as they maneuvered slowly towards the intangible woman. Flimsy, insubstantial, but her voice ricocheting like nettles and thorns; piercing and puncturing together, raking as little knives. He too glanced into the grass, amidst the long stalks, but couldn’t send anything – not alive, anyway, and he had to half-wonder if she was searching for something that simply couldn’t be found.
But the Harpy asked and he remained vigilantly silent, a guard and protective force, until the wraith shrieked again, and then became quieter, dismal, a whisper in the wind. ”My eyes! My boys!” until it repreated like a mantra, in between the most despondent of sobs.
But the Harpy asked and he remained vigilantly silent, a guard and protective force, until the wraith shrieked again, and then became quieter, dismal, a whisper in the wind. ”My eyes! My boys!” until it repreated like a mantra, in between the most despondent of sobs.
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
