There's an art to life's distraction, to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through
Zuriel is catered to happily, Hester’s hands still gentle, even as her touch grows more confident. Her fervent agreement with Deimos’ words is obvious by her vigorous nodding, though she has no more words for the strangeness of the Greatwoods, unless she wants to begin repeating herself. The completions of her quest is a better subject, though she doesn’t have an answer for the question asked by the General. ”I think... It’s going to enchant my fiddle somehow.” A touch of distant worry swirls through her guts. Should she have asked more questions?
The quiet worry persists along the short trek she leads, compounded by the fact that Hester cannot say with any certainty that she actually {/i}had{/i} seen any antlers. And when they get the place she remembers, and there is nothing but a deep drift, that worry grows, until there’s suddenly a solution. Deimos shifts into a massive, steaming beast, reminds the bard of her own shift. Less useful perhaps, with hooves and horns instead of flaming paws, but she makes quite an effective bulldozer, scraping away layers of snow with nothing more than her fuzzy body.
And at first, their efforts seem futile, uncovering nothing. Just as apologies line up in her mind, preparing to stumble through the bond, there’s a barely noticeable shift in the colour of the snow, a glow that would be imperceptible if the day were even a fraction brighter. I think I see them! Hester hopes she doesn’t sound as nakedly relieved as she feels, a single hoof pawing at the snow ineffectively near the glow.
The quiet worry persists along the short trek she leads, compounded by the fact that Hester cannot say with any certainty that she actually {/i}had{/i} seen any antlers. And when they get the place she remembers, and there is nothing but a deep drift, that worry grows, until there’s suddenly a solution. Deimos shifts into a massive, steaming beast, reminds the bard of her own shift. Less useful perhaps, with hooves and horns instead of flaming paws, but she makes quite an effective bulldozer, scraping away layers of snow with nothing more than her fuzzy body.
And at first, their efforts seem futile, uncovering nothing. Just as apologies line up in her mind, preparing to stumble through the bond, there’s a barely noticeable shift in the colour of the snow, a glow that would be imperceptible if the day were even a fraction brighter. I think I see them! Hester hopes she doesn’t sound as nakedly relieved as she feels, a single hoof pawing at the snow ineffectively near the glow.
Hester
