( The nod is a sketch, prematurely aborted. In Cloud Recesses, an exaggeration of gesture is profligacy by any other name — Lan Wangji need not forget his childhood courtesies, only for having strayed into another world.
And he is tired past bone, into marrow. A stiffness chokes his throat and walks his spine, keeps his back arrested in a firm, unyielding line. He remembers home, lacquered floors, crisp grass blades and the gentle steps of disciples, never running. Taking instruction, while Wangji dictates in a voice as mild-weathered as this: )
Correct. ( No reward forthcoming. ) A son and vessel of the biting wind.
( Empowered by it, and strengthening it in return, in a curious cyclical relationship Lan Wangji cannot pretend to comprehend. )
Should have executed alongside his rival. We neglected to.
no subject
And he is tired past bone, into marrow. A stiffness chokes his throat and walks his spine, keeps his back arrested in a firm, unyielding line. He remembers home, lacquered floors, crisp grass blades and the gentle steps of disciples, never running. Taking instruction, while Wangji dictates in a voice as mild-weathered as this: )
Correct. ( No reward forthcoming. ) A son and vessel of the biting wind.
( Empowered by it, and strengthening it in return, in a curious cyclical relationship Lan Wangji cannot pretend to comprehend. )
Should have executed alongside his rival. We neglected to.
( Scurried like rats, a literal vessel drowned. )