(no subject)
More random writing. Set last night, just before Potamos flipped out. Written for Sophie, posted on her encouragement
As Sophie takes human shape to approach her brother, she can see a girl running into the forest, with a young man -- Ranma, she thinks -- in hot pursuit.
Francescu's power gathers around him. The air is thick and hard to breathe. He nods to her as she approaches, hands raised in an invocation. "You come at an auspicious time, sister," he says, and she nods in her turn.
"The boundaries of the forest must be warded. If the warding is to endure, the bounds of the spell must be marked, and quickly, with this sigil." A shape takes form in the air before him, simple curves and lines twisting in on themselves. Sophie has seen it before, and she commits it easily to memory now. Francescu locks eyes with her, and she can feel the weight of his power in his gaze.
"It must be done before sunset. There is no one else I trust who can."
Sophie's mouth curves in a smile. "Of course I can." As her brother smiles back, she begins to run.
She is a greyhound, fleet and graceful, and as she brushes against a tree a hand flashes out from her back, claws carving the symbol deep into the bark. It is too slow. The sun is setting, and she increases her pace.
She is a cheetah, and as she leaps her claws rip the symbol into the earth, into the surface of trees, into the bark. Her brother's spell is building; she can feel it, power straining at the fabric of the world, trailing in her wake, seeking completion.
She is the lightning, and she arcs from tree to rock to tree, burning the sigil wherever she touches.
The sun is setting.
Sophie is a thing without a name, which was slain by the elder folk long ago. Her body is half-real and sinuous as it glides through the emptiness between "here" and "there" and she leaves the sigil wherever she rejoins the world.
She is the the wind itself, and in her wake leaves and twigs and branches fall to form the sigil on the ground.
The spell is nearing completion as she returns to physical shape; she is a blur of forms, hawk and cheetah and greyhound, as she scores the last symbol into a tree. Francescu speaks the final word of the spell as the sun sets at last and Sophie can feel the power wash over her, forming an impenetrable wall between camp and the fury of a cheated devil.
When she takes human shape again, she is breathless and grinning, and he is grinning, and together they laugh for the sheer joy of what they have done.
As Sophie takes human shape to approach her brother, she can see a girl running into the forest, with a young man -- Ranma, she thinks -- in hot pursuit.
Francescu's power gathers around him. The air is thick and hard to breathe. He nods to her as she approaches, hands raised in an invocation. "You come at an auspicious time, sister," he says, and she nods in her turn.
"The boundaries of the forest must be warded. If the warding is to endure, the bounds of the spell must be marked, and quickly, with this sigil." A shape takes form in the air before him, simple curves and lines twisting in on themselves. Sophie has seen it before, and she commits it easily to memory now. Francescu locks eyes with her, and she can feel the weight of his power in his gaze.
"It must be done before sunset. There is no one else I trust who can."
Sophie's mouth curves in a smile. "Of course I can." As her brother smiles back, she begins to run.
She is a greyhound, fleet and graceful, and as she brushes against a tree a hand flashes out from her back, claws carving the symbol deep into the bark. It is too slow. The sun is setting, and she increases her pace.
She is a cheetah, and as she leaps her claws rip the symbol into the earth, into the surface of trees, into the bark. Her brother's spell is building; she can feel it, power straining at the fabric of the world, trailing in her wake, seeking completion.
She is the lightning, and she arcs from tree to rock to tree, burning the sigil wherever she touches.
The sun is setting.
Sophie is a thing without a name, which was slain by the elder folk long ago. Her body is half-real and sinuous as it glides through the emptiness between "here" and "there" and she leaves the sigil wherever she rejoins the world.
She is the the wind itself, and in her wake leaves and twigs and branches fall to form the sigil on the ground.
The spell is nearing completion as she returns to physical shape; she is a blur of forms, hawk and cheetah and greyhound, as she scores the last symbol into a tree. Francescu speaks the final word of the spell as the sun sets at last and Sophie can feel the power wash over her, forming an impenetrable wall between camp and the fury of a cheated devil.
When she takes human shape again, she is breathless and grinning, and he is grinning, and together they laugh for the sheer joy of what they have done.