Arm gripping arm. Her eyes lock, and no point in translation; no purpose to repeating: Cetus aren't shaped like this. Years ago, a young wyrm washed up on the beach, lank and starved with a belly slashed by runic spar. She'd picked through the remains, dug a tooth from its jaws, and never thought —
The pencil-lead bounces at their feet and keeps rolling, down into the chasm. Sennara crouches, the motion tugging Yseult with her like a forgotten kite. The crevasse is deep. She wants more limbs to ground.
"There is sculptor. Ancient Age. Says he sees golem big as juggernaut, bigger. Says this thinks and walks free."
no subject
Arm gripping arm. Her eyes lock, and no point in translation; no purpose to repeating: Cetus aren't shaped like this. Years ago, a young wyrm washed up on the beach, lank and starved with a belly slashed by runic spar. She'd picked through the remains, dug a tooth from its jaws, and never thought —
The pencil-lead bounces at their feet and keeps rolling, down into the chasm. Sennara crouches, the motion tugging Yseult with her like a forgotten kite. The crevasse is deep. She wants more limbs to ground.
"There is sculptor. Ancient Age. Says he sees golem big as juggernaut, bigger. Says this thinks and walks free."
Artists exaggerate.