[ A man. An accomplice. One bereft of opportunity to complete the task collapsed before him, and these people, beads bereft their string, and the dead crawling in mad, many-legged infestation. Heat and headiness. He breathes, grip on his sword's hilt like flesh finding extension.
They go for a stick, madness mounts itself in the back of his mind, whispers and teases shrill, like night birds passing, a stick, a stick, a stick.
If satisfaction licks at him, it's to taste the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, where his teeth flay his lip, cajole the fetid stench of stale water to turn scratches into infection. ]
We may yet re-enter a trap.
[ She knows a great deal of what came before. Precious little of the now, the after. ]
no subject
They go for a stick, madness mounts itself in the back of his mind, whispers and teases shrill, like night birds passing, a stick, a stick, a stick.
If satisfaction licks at him, it's to taste the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, where his teeth flay his lip, cajole the fetid stench of stale water to turn scratches into infection. ]
We may yet re-enter a trap.
[ She knows a great deal of what came before. Precious little of the now, the after. ]