Is it terror you feel, or anticipation? Both, perhaps, but what is it you fear? What is it that you anticipate? What makes your heart stir so?
[Passenger can't just ask "what's wrong" apparently, oh no, he has to go on these long-winded tirades that lead to nothing but branching pathways of questions.
No longer looking at Sesa out of the corner of his eye, he leans back slightly, breaking that proper posture and tilting his head at his companion. The tail-thump is noted. He longs to run his fingers against the thick scales, feel each individual spine travelling along the length of it, but he stays his hand. He waits with the patience of a man who, historically, spent twenty years on a revenge plot.
He waits. He'll keep waiting, as long as it takes for Sesa to make a decision.]
no subject
[Passenger can't just ask "what's wrong" apparently, oh no, he has to go on these long-winded tirades that lead to nothing but branching pathways of questions.
No longer looking at Sesa out of the corner of his eye, he leans back slightly, breaking that proper posture and tilting his head at his companion. The tail-thump is noted. He longs to run his fingers against the thick scales, feel each individual spine travelling along the length of it, but he stays his hand. He waits with the patience of a man who, historically, spent twenty years on a revenge plot.
He waits. He'll keep waiting, as long as it takes for Sesa to make a decision.]