She doesn't hear him coming—she doesn't hear him at all—but as Daud approaches, and his shadow falls through the sunlight, her eyes like bulbs of amber flash open, and she scrambles back, feathers flapping, fingers scrabbling at the soil, a smooth glass hill behind her that gives no purchase, the movements of her feet hindered by long funeral robes.
She doesn't hear his voice—or she hears it, but his words are nonsense to her at first; she pulls her laden arms together and replies in the esoteric language of the southern nation. "What do you want? Take a feather, take a reading, if this is a return to the old prescriptions then I will return to giving. What do you want?"
With a shaking grip, with surprising strength, she tears loose one of her golden feathers—it straightens, quivering and humming in the breeze, as she thrusts it at Daud's face.
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i know very little about dishonored so we're even ;w;
Date: 2017-10-01 11:15 pm (UTC)She doesn't hear his voice—or she hears it, but his words are nonsense to her at first; she pulls her laden arms together and replies in the esoteric language of the southern nation. "What do you want? Take a feather, take a reading, if this is a return to the old prescriptions then I will return to giving. What do you want?"
With a shaking grip, with surprising strength, she tears loose one of her golden feathers—it straightens, quivering and humming in the breeze, as she thrusts it at Daud's face.