( A dozen, at a generous count. Eight, adjusted for the sophistication required of Wei Ying's command. Paltry numbers, if the coiled and waiting nests Lan Wangji spies with the bare eye hide as many winged listeners as he suspects. They cannot depend on an army capable of withstanding the tumult of fliers that the tower can unleash upon them.
Even now, Lan Wangji supplements the creatures with the tosses and turning of his wire, scissoring through meat like a butcher's morning work, splintering fat and bone and tossing out debris. The stench of death pervades, putrid — he shifts aside, for the swooping drop of cadavers that plop on the first level's ground in spatters of smooth, oily sheen.
...what would it take to fall, to rally down? The freedom to abandon everything consumes him. And then there's Wei Ying, voice easy and crystalline, and Lan Wangji stirs enough of himself from reverie to gaze up, where the wyverns swarm and circle each other, and assess: )
Less than a li. ( But then, who knows what porcelain face the puppetry of that level will show them? Caution recommended the climb. In dark of the tower's gut, they cannot be certain of the waiting dangers. ) Would you trust your creatures to fly us to the rooftop?
( To circumvent the levels, this arduous climb, their attackers? Better this than Bichen, allowing Lan Wangji control of his sword, should wyverns attack. But if Wei Ying's bats cannot be trusted... )
no subject
( A dozen, at a generous count. Eight, adjusted for the sophistication required of Wei Ying's command. Paltry numbers, if the coiled and waiting nests Lan Wangji spies with the bare eye hide as many winged listeners as he suspects. They cannot depend on an army capable of withstanding the tumult of fliers that the tower can unleash upon them.
Even now, Lan Wangji supplements the creatures with the tosses and turning of his wire, scissoring through meat like a butcher's morning work, splintering fat and bone and tossing out debris. The stench of death pervades, putrid — he shifts aside, for the swooping drop of cadavers that plop on the first level's ground in spatters of smooth, oily sheen.
...what would it take to fall, to rally down? The freedom to abandon everything consumes him. And then there's Wei Ying, voice easy and crystalline, and Lan Wangji stirs enough of himself from reverie to gaze up, where the wyverns swarm and circle each other, and assess: )
Less than a li. ( But then, who knows what porcelain face the puppetry of that level will show them? Caution recommended the climb. In dark of the tower's gut, they cannot be certain of the waiting dangers. ) Would you trust your creatures to fly us to the rooftop?
( To circumvent the levels, this arduous climb, their attackers? Better this than Bichen, allowing Lan Wangji control of his sword, should wyverns attack. But if Wei Ying's bats cannot be trusted... )