She registers Kit's glance from the corner of her eye, doesn't track to it — but behind her back, her fingers unknit to him: A conscious anti-tension, some pointless little invocation of morale. This will be over soon.
Not for long, though. Not forever. You don't forget the sight of things underground, of stones upturned; ugly fragile creatures squirming from rock. Wren keeps her attention to Petra as she speaks, then Einar. Cold eyes, old ones. So the ugly thing's here, damp twisted below the crags of a solid face, a present authority.
Even mountains wear down. But they may require this one whole.
"Of course," When it's her turn to speak, and nothing more. You don't offer condolences for losses the Inquisition can't afford to have bought; to have trotted Yngvi out here, nice and proper, it isn't only his own family the man's flexing against. Whatever the nature of these negotiations (ears to hear, and that might be currency or contract), work upon more work —
There are few shoulders for that to fall upon. Lately they bend, bow.
Her head dips, and she waits for the stone to roll free.
no subject
Not for long, though. Not forever. You don't forget the sight of things underground, of stones upturned; ugly fragile creatures squirming from rock. Wren keeps her attention to Petra as she speaks, then Einar. Cold eyes, old ones. So the ugly thing's here, damp twisted below the crags of a solid face, a present authority.
Even mountains wear down. But they may require this one whole.
"Of course," When it's her turn to speak, and nothing more. You don't offer condolences for losses the Inquisition can't afford to have bought; to have trotted Yngvi out here, nice and proper, it isn't only his own family the man's flexing against. Whatever the nature of these negotiations (ears to hear, and that might be currency or contract), work upon more work —
There are few shoulders for that to fall upon. Lately they bend, bow.
Her head dips, and she waits for the stone to roll free.