Did I not ask, but his mouth will not speak the poison, if you may yet stand?
...forgive him, heavens and grandmaster and the convulsive pulse that livens his long-challenged brow, for he thinks each word. And he breathes, strong exhale drawing a hiss beside it and the eye of the dead, judging severely, when he sets Bichen before him — directs her to lie prone, barely hovered over the level horsecar platform, waiting.
"This elder may mount first." A wretched thing, to fly with strangers. And yet, as Lan Wangji seeks to release the latches and open the last door — what is his choice?
( It will strike him, later, that he offered not a thought to the undead. )
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...forgive him, heavens and grandmaster and the convulsive pulse that livens his long-challenged brow, for he thinks each word. And he breathes, strong exhale drawing a hiss beside it and the eye of the dead, judging severely, when he sets Bichen before him — directs her to lie prone, barely hovered over the level horsecar platform, waiting.
"This elder may mount first." A wretched thing, to fly with strangers. And yet, as Lan Wangji seeks to release the latches and open the last door — what is his choice?
( It will strike him, later, that he offered not a thought to the undead. )