Rory
There were
people
(Shit—)
He didn't even know how to formulate the thought. He didn't know how to break it into words he could understand. He tried to process it, but got stuck where he started: there were people.
Sweet, sweet Safrin... Strangers; foreigners; outworlders; and they were here, and now they were all stuck together.
Yes, of course he had bashed his head against the barrier to make sure it still bit him, and yes, it had bitten him right in the face and left him lying on his back, staring up into Bakshi's questioning face.
He hadn't made it back home yet, so he still had the scruffy bay pony with him. For a good long time he'd simply let the creature amble on, away from the bizarre encounter, away from the barrier, away from everything but the one thing he could outpace: his own mind. Sunken deep into his own thoughts he'd only returned to his senses when he noticed Bakshi had taken them into the forest.
Feeling a little guilty about their long outing, Rory dismounted and pulled the reins over the pony's head. He stuffed his hands—reins included—into the pockets of the greatcoat, hunched his shoulders against his demons, and set off on foot, Bakshi obediently picking his way along behind him. The pike was a grim omen strapped across Rory's back.
It wouldn't have taken a lot to kill him: he was distracted and unfocused.
Fortunately, he had a horse with him. Bakshi stopped momentarily and turned his head to the left; the reins grew taut and the pressure against his fingers jerked him back into the present. Rory, more of a startled animal than he wanted to admit, held his breath and turned his head in the same direction.
A woman was walking along. Again, everything about her screamed foreign: her clothes her face her posture her focus her movements her presence
He froze, a deer in the headlights.
people
(Shit—)
He didn't even know how to formulate the thought. He didn't know how to break it into words he could understand. He tried to process it, but got stuck where he started: there were people.
Sweet, sweet Safrin... Strangers; foreigners; outworlders; and they were here, and now they were all stuck together.
Yes, of course he had bashed his head against the barrier to make sure it still bit him, and yes, it had bitten him right in the face and left him lying on his back, staring up into Bakshi's questioning face.
He hadn't made it back home yet, so he still had the scruffy bay pony with him. For a good long time he'd simply let the creature amble on, away from the bizarre encounter, away from the barrier, away from everything but the one thing he could outpace: his own mind. Sunken deep into his own thoughts he'd only returned to his senses when he noticed Bakshi had taken them into the forest.
Feeling a little guilty about their long outing, Rory dismounted and pulled the reins over the pony's head. He stuffed his hands—reins included—into the pockets of the greatcoat, hunched his shoulders against his demons, and set off on foot, Bakshi obediently picking his way along behind him. The pike was a grim omen strapped across Rory's back.
It wouldn't have taken a lot to kill him: he was distracted and unfocused.
Fortunately, he had a horse with him. Bakshi stopped momentarily and turned his head to the left; the reins grew taut and the pressure against his fingers jerked him back into the present. Rory, more of a startled animal than he wanted to admit, held his breath and turned his head in the same direction.
A woman was walking along. Again, everything about her screamed foreign: her clothes her face her posture her focus her movements her presence
He froze, a deer in the headlights.
