[ Efficient here, but exposed, back and body bare, mind sharp. Already, more of Unhalad's hounds show their fangs close, and Lan Wangji falls in the cliche, riddled formation, back to Beitang Moran, leading them in the dance of a measured rotation.
Eyes ever on the prize of the coming assailant, raise Bichen, swing down, let the drip of innards foul the snow's dust red, before the sword comes up again. ]
You risk yourself in isolation. [ The art of conversation, come the cries of war. A lost endeavour. Still: ] No sacrifice required.
[ There is a man who waits. Pale as Lan Wangji, finely-mannered. A Jin by any other name, borrowed and held in foreign esteem. Su Xunxian will write a hundred grudges in blood for the loss of a comrade, and Lan Wangji will not be he to cast eyes red and askance.
Best they do not waste master Moran while live there still the owls to sing his dirge and the companions to grieve him. If he should commit his suicide, let it be with letter and inheritors, rotted by age.
no subject
Eyes ever on the prize of the coming assailant, raise Bichen, swing down, let the drip of innards foul the snow's dust red, before the sword comes up again. ]
You risk yourself in isolation. [ The art of conversation, come the cries of war. A lost endeavour. Still: ] No sacrifice required.
[ There is a man who waits. Pale as Lan Wangji, finely-mannered. A Jin by any other name, borrowed and held in foreign esteem. Su Xunxian will write a hundred grudges in blood for the loss of a comrade, and Lan Wangji will not be he to cast eyes red and askance.
Best they do not waste master Moran while live there still the owls to sing his dirge and the companions to grieve him. If he should commit his suicide, let it be with letter and inheritors, rotted by age.
Not here, with Lan Wangji within reach. ]