[ It already has the ring of a Statement. He is, Jon realizes, already too far in. And too hungry. The thought of subsisting on nothing but written scraps makes him go cold with apprehension; he wants this.
At the word hunt, he trembles: just a moment's taut-wire tension. Her fear is so apparent. There's so much for her to tell him, and it's all new— these are things he's never heard before, things his patron has never seen—
He wants to be better than this. He's not. He's got a little girl in an alleyway and he can nearly see the tentacles in her dreams. ]
And you were... hunted.
[ There it is: that resonance again, prompting her, urging her to speak more freely than she would. It gives a strange weight to the air. Tell the story, it says.
no subject
At the word hunt, he trembles: just a moment's taut-wire tension. Her fear is so apparent. There's so much for her to tell him, and it's all new— these are things he's never heard before, things his patron has never seen—
He wants to be better than this. He's not. He's got a little girl in an alleyway and he can nearly see the tentacles in her dreams. ]
And you were... hunted.
[ There it is: that resonance again, prompting her, urging her to speak more freely than she would. It gives a strange weight to the air. Tell the story, it says.
(Sorry, Martin.) ]