What he thinks, what he feels in that moment, they're solely one and the same. A truth that solidified itself from the instant he heard his own name uttered, and a conversation whose participants were recognizable by sound, rather than sight— but memory beyond sensation? Beyond the palpable rise of fear and nausea, and the thunder of dread as a surrogate for his own pulse?
He has to look at Fenris peripherally. Keeps him there, but blurry in the borders of his own vision: taking care not to track the way he might be staring back. It doesn't matter that he knows Leto wouldn't stare at him with pity (or that Fenris most of all wouldn't, either).
The thought he might spot some unevolved glimpse of it is unbearable.]
Cazador. [And the name curdles on his tongue. A memory he's no desire to taste, but as much a guess as he can muster when the details still feel hazy.]
no subject
What he thinks, what he feels in that moment, they're solely one and the same. A truth that solidified itself from the instant he heard his own name uttered, and a conversation whose participants were recognizable by sound, rather than sight— but memory beyond sensation? Beyond the palpable rise of fear and nausea, and the thunder of dread as a surrogate for his own pulse?
He has to look at Fenris peripherally. Keeps him there, but blurry in the borders of his own vision: taking care not to track the way he might be staring back. It doesn't matter that he knows Leto wouldn't stare at him with pity (or that Fenris most of all wouldn't, either).
The thought he might spot some unevolved glimpse of it is unbearable.]
Cazador. [And the name curdles on his tongue. A memory he's no desire to taste, but as much a guess as he can muster when the details still feel hazy.]
That your blasted devil was right.