(no subject)
There's a fair wind blowing, but it's hemmed by the trees and the buildings; rustling leaves and water and still black sails in frustration, ruffling her hem where she stands, toes curling into the coarse lakeside sand.
The Pearl is further from shore now, anchored and secure far out in the water, with no way for her to get to it, and Tia Dalma clenches one brown fist with annoyance, the beads she holds denting her palm. The smell of salt is very faint--though her nostrils flare, she can catch only the slightest hint of it. The static lake is just like a puddle of rainwater that hasn't been soaked up yet, and she, never patient, is growing restless.
She's seen the new arrivals; this edge of the universe is growing crowded.
The thought makes her smile, if only to herself.
The Pearl is further from shore now, anchored and secure far out in the water, with no way for her to get to it, and Tia Dalma clenches one brown fist with annoyance, the beads she holds denting her palm. The smell of salt is very faint--though her nostrils flare, she can catch only the slightest hint of it. The static lake is just like a puddle of rainwater that hasn't been soaked up yet, and she, never patient, is growing restless.
She's seen the new arrivals; this edge of the universe is growing crowded.
The thought makes her smile, if only to herself.