[ They watch the flames at first, slowing their walk to stare curiously, but the sound catches their attention much more quickly.
The sound of a heartbeat is - not entirely foreign to them. The quickening pulse of the infection thumped and reverberated in their head, invasive and sickening; they always knew when something sick was nearby, because it seemed as if what gripped those empty shells was always desperately trying to claw its way out.
This is different. This is steady, measured; not quiet, but the sound of something at rest. For the moment, passive and without agitation.
(Safe? No, not safe, not in the way that the word would normally be used. But known, yes. They know this, from somewhere.)
They stop short at the heat washing over them, the sudden attention they are given from this strange being. There is, for the first time in this dream, a small amount of apprehension in the way they hold themselves, the way they look up to meet his eyes.
(They have never met him consciously. )
They bow in acknowledgement and then straighten up, unsure of what to say. What small talk they've picked up, little social niceties, seems irrelevant in the face of someone like this.
You called me?
Why?
As usual, they resort to questions, when left to their own devices. ]
no worries, it's all good
The sound of a heartbeat is - not entirely foreign to them. The quickening pulse of the infection thumped and reverberated in their head, invasive and sickening; they always knew when something sick was nearby, because it seemed as if what gripped those empty shells was always desperately trying to claw its way out.
This is different. This is steady, measured; not quiet, but the sound of something at rest. For the moment, passive and without agitation.
(Safe? No, not safe, not in the way that the word would normally be used. But known, yes. They know this, from somewhere.)
They stop short at the heat washing over them, the sudden attention they are given from this strange being. There is, for the first time in this dream, a small amount of apprehension in the way they hold themselves, the way they look up to meet his eyes.
(They have never met him consciously. )
They bow in acknowledgement and then straighten up, unsure of what to say. What small talk they've picked up, little social niceties, seems irrelevant in the face of someone like this.
You called me?
Why?
As usual, they resort to questions, when left to their own devices. ]