( Sorcery spools and unwinds between them. He does not see the weave of spell that strikes the door but knows it — relief on his back an even, intimate spread, the lack of coarse brutality — shut.
He breathes. In and out and his eyes shuttered, the back of his head softly knocked against blunt wood once more. At fenced distance, the fox groom aggrieves the door's stretch as if it were a tomb's lid, and he swallows, murmurs: )
You see other recourse?
( Sword in one hand, slaughter in the other. He knows what is his to deliver, the simple solution to a possession distorted by time. Mere exorcism cannot cure a curse so aged. He hesitates, but heeds, head tipped and senses sharpened. )
no subject
He breathes. In and out and his eyes shuttered, the back of his head softly knocked against blunt wood once more. At fenced distance, the fox groom aggrieves the door's stretch as if it were a tomb's lid, and he swallows, murmurs: )
You see other recourse?
( Sword in one hand, slaughter in the other. He knows what is his to deliver, the simple solution to a possession distorted by time. Mere exorcism cannot cure a curse so aged. He hesitates, but heeds, head tipped and senses sharpened. )