( Not killed, but slaughtered in genocide. Removed to the hair and heart of one. He remembers the boasting of soldiers, the sinister, unctuous joy of the soldiers, as if all that warmed their bodies was the blood they did not even shed with their two hands. )
Sirens have attacked us at every encounter. ( In Sa-Hareth, Ellethia, the seas beyond. ) Precedent does not suggest innocence.
( But there are breeds of such creatures, branches on each tree. Perhaps these sirens were the rare flowers absent thorns, for all Lan Wangji permits himself a moment's presumption.
Like Wrathion, he drips to a knee, searching the waters unhurried — not with his hand, but the tip of sword, Bichen's silver nearly lost in the translucence of heavy, jutting ice sheets. Nothing, at the surface, unless animals have already collected the bloom. )
The flower might sleep in the depths. ( Time, then, to rush in. )
no subject
Sirens have attacked us at every encounter. ( In Sa-Hareth, Ellethia, the seas beyond. ) Precedent does not suggest innocence.
( But there are breeds of such creatures, branches on each tree. Perhaps these sirens were the rare flowers absent thorns, for all Lan Wangji permits himself a moment's presumption.
Like Wrathion, he drips to a knee, searching the waters unhurried — not with his hand, but the tip of sword, Bichen's silver nearly lost in the translucence of heavy, jutting ice sheets. Nothing, at the surface, unless animals have already collected the bloom. )
The flower might sleep in the depths. ( Time, then, to rush in. )