[ The greater monstrous shape of Illarion catches at his arms and grips down to the bone, paring flesh like ripe fruit. Darkblood opens in a wet, starry gleam. John doesn't flinch; he has gone quiet, nearly corpse-still. The pads of his fingers clench for a moment against the shrike's slim shoulder, then the tension releases and his touch remains.
The bird makes another hideous noise and presses close as a frightened child. John curls in over him, reflexive, his palms skimming up the anguished curve of the elf's back. ]
It's all catching up to you. [ Hard to say whether he sounds horrified or marveling, stunned by the gravity of it. His voice has dropped low nearly to reverence. ] I can feel it. [ Every cell that doesn't die, every impulse that doesn't fire, like a single breath held forever: he examines this like a landscape, spread out for him like art. He's never really looked close, before. It's been years since he paid such attention to the intricacies of a corpse.
God smooths his hand down over Illarion's hitching back as though comforting a child. ]
no subject
The bird makes another hideous noise and presses close as a frightened child. John curls in over him, reflexive, his palms skimming up the anguished curve of the elf's back. ]
It's all catching up to you. [ Hard to say whether he sounds horrified or marveling, stunned by the gravity of it. His voice has dropped low nearly to reverence. ] I can feel it. [ Every cell that doesn't die, every impulse that doesn't fire, like a single breath held forever: he examines this like a landscape, spread out for him like art. He's never really looked close, before. It's been years since he paid such attention to the intricacies of a corpse.
God smooths his hand down over Illarion's hitching back as though comforting a child. ]
Bear with me. Let it pass.