[Uncomprehending radioluminescent blue stares at Willow from under a lank fringe of still-wet dark curls, the glowing eyes of the latest drifting ghost that their mutual host has collected from the seaside.
Obediently, Paul turns his attention to where the stranger is looking. There's a drift of copper-colored spores in the air, perhaps produced by the cords of mottled black fungi that seem to have colonized the skeletons of the house. He doesn't remember them being there before. He thinks he would remember if they had been.]
I think so.
[His voice is a soft blur of overlapping other voices, too many to distinguish or count. At the sound of it, he grimaces faintly, pulling the dark blanket he's wrapped around himself closer.]
no subject
Obediently, Paul turns his attention to where the stranger is looking. There's a drift of copper-colored spores in the air, perhaps produced by the cords of mottled black fungi that seem to have colonized the skeletons of the house. He doesn't remember them being there before. He thinks he would remember if they had been.]
I think so.
[His voice is a soft blur of overlapping other voices, too many to distinguish or count. At the sound of it, he grimaces faintly, pulling the dark blanket he's wrapped around himself closer.]