[He'd state his rebuff loud and clear if not for the immediate overtake of all his senses from the very moment his foot is planted on the ground— left first— feeling the dry whip of the open wind buffeting his arch whilst his sole makes peace with flaky shale pushed snug between his toes.
Suddenly he's not dressed in a poet's shirt and slacks and night-dark gloves; suddenly he's wearing only the expressive reflection of sensory dismay, apparent from the cattish drooping of his ears right down to the slouch along his spine.]
It's so....
[Then the other foot, and it feels no better in the climb towards upright status: deepening the image of a child tasting something new, unsure of what the make of it might be(— aside from wishing for a return to being back in his boots, caught against Fenris' lithe front). Behind red eyes, gears turn for a long, long while.
no subject
Suddenly he's not dressed in a poet's shirt and slacks and night-dark gloves; suddenly he's wearing only the expressive reflection of sensory dismay, apparent from the cattish drooping of his ears right down to the slouch along his spine.]
It's so....
[Then the other foot, and it feels no better in the climb towards upright status: deepening the image of a child tasting something new, unsure of what the make of it might be(— aside from wishing for a return to being back in his boots, caught against Fenris' lithe front). Behind red eyes, gears turn for a long, long while.
Longer still, before:]
....dusty.
[:( ]