While Clarisse scratches Potato’s chest from the front, Astrid notices an irregularity at the back of the griffon’s neck where Potato couldn’t reach it for grooming, an old feather in the middle of moulting. She takes it with thumb and forefinger and gently pulls it off the sheath of the new feather bristling beneath it. Like combing out a dog shedding their undercoat. (Sorry, she can’t help that her main frame of reference is dogs.)
She was, Clarisse says, notably past tense. “I heard you announce her going,” Astrid says, tentative.
And she might have had a better sense of these relationships, except that her hunting trips always took her into the woods for a time. Her Riftwatch missions have sent her out at sea for a while, scouting ships with Xio; with Gwenaëlle and Loxley. She knows she’s missed details back at the Gallows, the shape of things.
“Ellie, she was your…?”
Best friend, girlfriend, those lines were so hard for a bystander to interpret sometimes.
no subject
She was, Clarisse says, notably past tense. “I heard you announce her going,” Astrid says, tentative.
And she might have had a better sense of these relationships, except that her hunting trips always took her into the woods for a time. Her Riftwatch missions have sent her out at sea for a while, scouting ships with Xio; with Gwenaëlle and Loxley. She knows she’s missed details back at the Gallows, the shape of things.
“Ellie, she was your…?”
Best friend, girlfriend, those lines were so hard for a bystander to interpret sometimes.