The pull got stronger at the river’s edge and I resigned myself to wading. I could go home, trade out jeans, but these were as good or as bad as any other. I walked past a guy sitting hunched into himself and realized why this damn thing seemed to be moving. It had been
( ... )
Fear not the wind of wasting; Its howling is not for you. It's only the echo now, within The hearts of those just passing through...
Oh, this was lovely. All restraint and weariness, and never-quite-lowered defenses, even when both clearly want to reach out and at very least to understand better what's going on.
It's been a while since I read the books, and I've conflated some of their worldbuilding with something I'm doing on my own, so I had to go in and unpick all those threads before I could post.
Funny, isn't it, how we soak up all these influences and they meld at the edges, like watercolors, so it's hard to pull them back apart again.
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*Friendfail!*
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Your bit comes up tomorrow because I need to check something.
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Its howling is not for you.
It's only the echo now, within
The hearts of those just passing through...
Oh, this was lovely. All restraint and weariness, and never-quite-lowered defenses, even when both clearly want to reach out and at very least to understand better what's going on.
Nicely done!
Reply
It's been a while since I read the books, and I've conflated some of their worldbuilding with something I'm doing on my own, so I had to go in and unpick all those threads before I could post.
Funny, isn't it, how we soak up all these influences and they meld at the edges, like watercolors, so it's hard to pull them back apart again.
Reply
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