(no subject)
The thing about a compass is if it points two ways, it's utter rubbish.
Or so Lucy's inclined to think, and she'd be the first to admit that she's glaring at the silver object in her hands as she sits in the sand.
(The sand is rougher here, she thinks, distantly, without wanting to, and not so fine under her feet.)
Lucy is generally inclined to watch her language, but she's muttering curses off and on that would make the knights she once rode with and the sailors on the Dawn Treader and the schoolmates of her brothers good and proud.
It's cathartic.
At least, it's keeping her from throwing the stupid thing in the lake.
Or so Lucy's inclined to think, and she'd be the first to admit that she's glaring at the silver object in her hands as she sits in the sand.
(The sand is rougher here, she thinks, distantly, without wanting to, and not so fine under her feet.)
Lucy is generally inclined to watch her language, but she's muttering curses off and on that would make the knights she once rode with and the sailors on the Dawn Treader and the schoolmates of her brothers good and proud.
It's cathartic.
At least, it's keeping her from throwing the stupid thing in the lake.