We'll find out together. I'll take you to the healer the second this is over, Fenris.
[It isn't empty air. It isn't unwillingness to play the hypothetical game of supposition (his mind is racing behind the placidity of an expression pinned against his own guard's shoulder in the windowless dark, already wondering how long it's been), knowing there could be barely any time till dawn— if it isn't here already, heralding the steady rap of knuckles at the door insisting that Lord Ancunín needs his hound.
And that's the crux of it, really. There is no time.
No time, no calm, aside from what they've scraped up from the wreckage of broken glass and shallow cuts.
It feels like those thin milliseconds all over again. The shattering span between a bullet whizzing through the air, and the hard slam of the ground rushing up to meet them, not knowing if it was safety or ruin that guided them down.]
If he did something to rewire or— or to control you, we'll figure it out. [Insists the elf with too-large ears curled up tight against his side, too short to keep his knees from digging into Fenris' thighs when he shifts to take that face in both his hands.] We'll undo it.
I don't know anything about magitech, but I have more than enough money to find people that do, so there's that, at least. And it won't be long before whoever was careless enough to shoot at us will be found. [His thumbpad traces over a banded line of lyrium, glowing from soft friction (weaving him wondering at what might lie beneath)....] They were stupid for that. Almost as stupid as your old master.
And the Ancunín line won't suffer either. Trust me on that.
no subject
[It isn't empty air. It isn't unwillingness to play the hypothetical game of supposition (his mind is racing behind the placidity of an expression pinned against his own guard's shoulder in the windowless dark, already wondering how long it's been), knowing there could be barely any time till dawn— if it isn't here already, heralding the steady rap of knuckles at the door insisting that Lord Ancunín needs his hound.
And that's the crux of it, really. There is no time.
No time, no calm, aside from what they've scraped up from the wreckage of broken glass and shallow cuts.
It feels like those thin milliseconds all over again. The shattering span between a bullet whizzing through the air, and the hard slam of the ground rushing up to meet them, not knowing if it was safety or ruin that guided them down.]
If he did something to rewire or— or to control you, we'll figure it out. [Insists the elf with too-large ears curled up tight against his side, too short to keep his knees from digging into Fenris' thighs when he shifts to take that face in both his hands.] We'll undo it.
I don't know anything about magitech, but I have more than enough money to find people that do, so there's that, at least. And it won't be long before whoever was careless enough to shoot at us will be found. [His thumbpad traces over a banded line of lyrium, glowing from soft friction (weaving him wondering at what might lie beneath)....] They were stupid for that. Almost as stupid as your old master.
And the Ancunín line won't suffer either. Trust me on that.