In the clear air of Ragnanival, coughing on her last lungful of clammy underworld air, the burden was heavier than it ought to be.
Gwendolyn looked. There was Oswald, whom she leaned against a column, still as death, but breathing lightly. There was the ring, heavy and cold on her finger. Her spear, held across her hip. Then, the bedraggled wet thing tucked under her arm.
It looked like a rolled up rug, black and ragged, oddly warm against her bodice. It twitched, squirmed, and came alive in her arms, rotating just enough for Gwendolyn to make out a pair of wide, baffled eyes in its vague features. Belatedly, it seemed to decide to be a dog.
Gwendolyn realized what she held and gasped.
(“My father sold her… to the queen of the dead…”)
“Pamina?” she whispered.
“Oh…” said the daemon, hazily, ears bobbing. “Is that my name? Hm. Yes, yes. That sounds right. Thank you. I’d forgotten.”
no subject
Gwendolyn looked. There was Oswald, whom she leaned against a column, still as death, but breathing lightly. There was the ring, heavy and cold on her finger. Her spear, held across her hip. Then, the bedraggled wet thing tucked under her arm.
It looked like a rolled up rug, black and ragged, oddly warm against her bodice. It twitched, squirmed, and came alive in her arms, rotating just enough for Gwendolyn to make out a pair of wide, baffled eyes in its vague features. Belatedly, it seemed to decide to be a dog.
Gwendolyn realized what she held and gasped.
(“My father sold her… to the queen of the dead…”)
“Pamina?” she whispered.
“Oh…” said the daemon, hazily, ears bobbing. “Is that my name? Hm. Yes, yes. That sounds right. Thank you. I’d forgotten.”