[Some Omens are as much people as their Sleepers, puissant and rational and capable of conversation. Iskierka is not one of these; there is only enough soul and emotion between her and her Sleeper to let one of them be a person, and she is so often relegated to a muted slumber. Communication is a struggle--so to be understood so exactly is a novelty. She lifts her antennae, head cocked to one side as she regards this clever child-man her Sleeper already thinks so well of.
I'm going to try something, he says, and she is slow to parse what the downward cast of his eyes means. It takes her seconds into his invocation to realize where he's looking, look down herself, and step off the label as it continues its transformation into something nearer microfiche for all the words in so small a space.
The fabric of the dream resonates with the request like it's been plucked. (Is that low and buzzing hum in the background, bone-conducting, something new? Has it always been there?) Letterforms twist and dance under the influence of low-frequency harmonics, rearranging themselves in cascades.
no subject
I'm going to try something, he says, and she is slow to parse what the downward cast of his eyes means. It takes her seconds into his invocation to realize where he's looking, look down herself, and step off the label as it continues its transformation into something nearer microfiche for all the words in so small a space.
The fabric of the dream resonates with the request like it's been plucked. (Is that low and buzzing hum in the background, bone-conducting, something new? Has it always been there?) Letterforms twist and dance under the influence of low-frequency harmonics, rearranging themselves in cascades.
Slowly, slowly, the noise yields up signal:]
The Throne will sing to you, if you're near enough to see it–