He had walked a round in the Underground, singing Ludo's song and carrying the soulcatcher lantern. He had not coaxed any lost spirits to him then, but it was a large place and he had been interrupted by Kiada. He would go there again soon, to keep trying, he told himself. Tonight, however, he felt called by the open sky and the promise of frost on the wind. Deepfrost approached on snow-shrouded paws, and an eerie fog rolled across the Hollowed Grounds this night, the moon occasionally glowing down from above when the clammy mist thinned.
Should he have been out in that weather? Probably not. Rory worried when he did, but he had nearly lost his blight-fueled temper again with his gentle mate for no reason whatsoever, and Jigano had chosen to walk in solitude a while, leaving Isuma to comfort the farmer. He held his white lantern low, the light shaking unsteadily from the tremble in his hands as he picked his way through the ruins, an eerie, wordless song rising from his lips to wind through the broken buildings and shadowed falls of stone where houses had once stood. The sound of it calmed him, baseless anger fading to a quieter, more weary feeling as if his emotions were bleeding out of him, bleached by the moon and muffled by the fog.
His walking stick, a rough staff growing smoother with constant use as he grew increasingly uncertain about wielding his rapier, tapped out upon the stones as he used it to help him over piles of rubble in his wandering search for the lost and forgotten.
Ashetta
Should he have been out in that weather? Probably not. Rory worried when he did, but he had nearly lost his blight-fueled temper again with his gentle mate for no reason whatsoever, and Jigano had chosen to walk in solitude a while, leaving Isuma to comfort the farmer. He held his white lantern low, the light shaking unsteadily from the tremble in his hands as he picked his way through the ruins, an eerie, wordless song rising from his lips to wind through the broken buildings and shadowed falls of stone where houses had once stood. The sound of it calmed him, baseless anger fading to a quieter, more weary feeling as if his emotions were bleeding out of him, bleached by the moon and muffled by the fog.
His walking stick, a rough staff growing smoother with constant use as he grew increasingly uncertain about wielding his rapier, tapped out upon the stones as he used it to help him over piles of rubble in his wandering search for the lost and forgotten.
