(no subject)
He has been standing outside, staring at the sky. The red sky.
Dagor Dagorath
Were it only that alone. Or the chaos inside. But when he closes his eyes, he feels change upon the air. Whispering in the trees, singing from the water. He feels it in the earth.
It is not his land. This is not his home. And yet it tugs at him.
He reenters the bar, his left arm halfway hidden in his rolled up cloak. He may not be armed, but even fabric makes a better shield than flesh, as Erestor is fond of saying. and whatever is happening here, it is hard for him to not frame it in images of war.
He is cautious, alert, and just a little bit on edge.
Dagor Dagorath
Were it only that alone. Or the chaos inside. But when he closes his eyes, he feels change upon the air. Whispering in the trees, singing from the water. He feels it in the earth.
It is not his land. This is not his home. And yet it tugs at him.
He reenters the bar, his left arm halfway hidden in his rolled up cloak. He may not be armed, but even fabric makes a better shield than flesh, as Erestor is fond of saying. and whatever is happening here, it is hard for him to not frame it in images of war.
He is cautious, alert, and just a little bit on edge.