[ Iezabel has reapplied her glove since establishing that mnemonic link. As such she is a position to promise, ] The word, if not the spirit- [ in that dust-and-derelict voice, the result of a purposeful filling of lungs that aren't doing much else right now. It's with gloved hands, likely preferable to immediate contact with those withered talons, that she tries her best to drag her new charge onto the frond. Either she does this now, or in a scant few meters when her burden catches on an upturned root and comes free.
The temptation to plunder him is ever-present, an impulse augmented by the peevish thought that, if he really valued his vital existence, he'd not be in this position. But in this state she is uncommonly obdurate, even by her normal standards, and now that her mind is made up it will take more than irritation to make her change course. The Vakis remnant only augments this stolidity, its patience interminable, millennia-old.
It's a good thing, too, because the going is not easy. Even once she manages to get an acceptable amount of his body mass onto the frond, she doesn't manage to drag it far before a tangled mass of half-pulverized vegetable matter rises up to block their path. She's not particular strong as it is, relying more on sheer perseverance than power or even cleverness, and this will be but the first of many.
She appears unperturbed, but then again not one solitary inch of her is showing. Without hesitation, however, she taps her forehead with her right hand, then a spot on her belly just below the navel, then raises the hand, palm facing out towards the obstacle. ]
Phthasteon rhusē- [ she intones, and within moments the thick knot of roots and splintered trunk begins to wither and crumble, clearing the way. The smell of dry rot assails them as they pass through the newly-formed compost that was moments ago a resolutely coherent mess of cellulose. Though really it only assails Erik; Ieza is as insensate as she is insistent and indefatigable. ]
no subject
The temptation to plunder him is ever-present, an impulse augmented by the peevish thought that, if he really valued his vital existence, he'd not be in this position. But in this state she is uncommonly obdurate, even by her normal standards, and now that her mind is made up it will take more than irritation to make her change course. The Vakis remnant only augments this stolidity, its patience interminable, millennia-old.
It's a good thing, too, because the going is not easy. Even once she manages to get an acceptable amount of his body mass onto the frond, she doesn't manage to drag it far before a tangled mass of half-pulverized vegetable matter rises up to block their path. She's not particular strong as it is, relying more on sheer perseverance than power or even cleverness, and this will be but the first of many.
She appears unperturbed, but then again not one solitary inch of her is showing. Without hesitation, however, she taps her forehead with her right hand, then a spot on her belly just below the navel, then raises the hand, palm facing out towards the obstacle. ]
Phthasteon rhusē- [ she intones, and within moments the thick knot of roots and splintered trunk begins to wither and crumble, clearing the way. The smell of dry rot assails them as they pass through the newly-formed compost that was moments ago a resolutely coherent mess of cellulose. Though really it only assails Erik; Ieza is as insensate as she is insistent and indefatigable. ]