(She can smell blood... She thinks. It could be the swan's, the memory of it from this morning. Leftovers. Igraine touches her mouth absentmindedly, wiping, and squints.
She is in a new place, with new people. Presumably they will leave again at some point through one of those portals, so the people that live here are uniquely suited to hear Igraine actually say what she is and what she can do. Why would they care about it? She isn't going to stay here. It's a practice run for telling someone who matters.)
no subject
She is in a new place, with new people. Presumably they will leave again at some point through one of those portals, so the people that live here are uniquely suited to hear Igraine actually say what she is and what she can do. Why would they care about it? She isn't going to stay here. It's a practice run for telling someone who matters.)
Not knowing how to knit.
(Old habits die hard.)