[Released though she might be, the Omen doesn't flee from further contact. She flutters only as far as the nearest flat surface and alights on it, staring him straight in the face as he studies her.
The question gets a descending warble from her, a weak feeling of loneliness and abandonment that hovers around preverbal concept. After a moment, she turns her head pointedly toward the dogged bunker door.
He is Out There; he is in the wasteland, in hell, in unreality. She cannot go to him.]
no subject
The question gets a descending warble from her, a weak feeling of loneliness and abandonment that hovers around preverbal concept. After a moment, she turns her head pointedly toward the dogged bunker door.
He is Out There; he is in the wasteland, in hell, in unreality. She cannot go to him.]