[ When the anger comes he's there to meet it—to cling to it, find consolation in it, this evidence that at least one of their number can experience outrage that isn't collective. Know wrong for what it is. ]
(Yeah.) [ He doesn't know in what sense the elf means it. Regardless: yeah. A precarious feeling, nerves and magnetic repulsion. Rust grimly reviewing his every brush with another mind, as though expecting bloody handprints.
Better. Yellow air, a book with a broken spine. Light writhing in front of his eyes. ] (Doesn't mean she deserved this.) [ The link between them goes abruptly slack. His next words are mechanical: ]
no subject
( Yeah. ) [ He doesn't know in what sense the elf means it. Regardless: yeah. A precarious feeling, nerves and magnetic repulsion. Rust grimly reviewing his every brush with another mind, as though expecting bloody handprints.
Better. Yellow air, a book with a broken spine. Light writhing in front of his eyes. ] ( Doesn't mean she deserved this. ) [ The link between them goes abruptly slack. His next words are mechanical: ]
( Get some rest. )