It isn't late at night, but it is late in the year, and the sun went about its business quickly ere it departed.
Jacqueline Somer walks beside a busy road, with her back to oncoming traffic, which she's read you aren't supposed to do but it makes the stupid LED headlights somewhat less unbearable.
She flinches every time a car passes her.
Cars are loud, and she has enhanced hearing.
She'd be much happier, she thinks, in a world without automobiles.
Unless there is someone physically dragging her out of this bed
(or taking her blankets, or pouring water on her, or threatening to throw away her books, or any of the myriad other things annoyed adults will do to people they rule over)
she's just going to sleep in, thanks.
Owl drifts back to sleep until awoken by the sound of someone hooking up caravle to her wagon.
Someone else knocks on Owl's door.
Owl can, when she so chooses, see through walls.
Who's knocking?
A tall elven male. He has a sword at his hip and a buckler on his back.
After waiting about thirty seconds he knocks a second time.
She's going to continue lying here, because she hasn't gotten enough sleep to think strategically.
And he's going to continue knocking, ensuring that she won't get any more sleep.
She doesn't know how to break out of this hold.
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post