"Yes, though you're still not likely to see steam." Or true thaumachinery. The second half, on the other hand, had Stocke shaking his head - then pausing, reconsidering. Close enough, he supposed, even if they didn't build suits or moving machines. (And it wasn't like he wasn't guilty of appending the thau- prefix to Ryslig's machinery himself, before.) "If anyone has tools that'd work for thaumachinery here, it's her," the shade said finally, as a compromise.
Something's out there...
Stocke's metaphorical hackles rose; that last noise'd been near enough that he wouldn't even have needed Rosch's muttered warning. One of his tendrils reached for the man, the tip brushing lightly through Rosch (cold, the sensation of someone having walked over your grave) as a reassurance that Stocke's friend was still there. Meanwhile, the shade let the rest of his tendrils spread out, testing the static in the air. Nothing close enough to sense as a soul, but that was hardly saying much, with the small distance Stocke could 'see' - better to rely on more human senses.
Such as sound - the padding of something that no longer sounded like feet (or... not human feet) over the forest floor, a quiet rustle of leaves and the soft creaking of bent summer branches. Too dark to see anything, too much undergrowth in the way, but Stocke slid in between it and Rosch with a quiet, 'Keep moving," his blank eyes suddenly colder.
The noises didn't stop, though they paused momentarily whenever the two of them talked, as if someone was holding one foot (paw? hoof? something else?) in the air to listen in. Their owner didn't attack either - but then, not many minutes later, it was joined by another stalker on the other side of the road.
no subject
Something's out there...
Stocke's metaphorical hackles rose; that last noise'd been near enough that he wouldn't even have needed Rosch's muttered warning. One of his tendrils reached for the man, the tip brushing lightly through Rosch (cold, the sensation of someone having walked over your grave) as a reassurance that Stocke's friend was still there. Meanwhile, the shade let the rest of his tendrils spread out, testing the static in the air. Nothing close enough to sense as a soul, but that was hardly saying much, with the small distance Stocke could 'see' - better to rely on more human senses.
Such as sound - the padding of something that no longer sounded like feet (or... not human feet) over the forest floor, a quiet rustle of leaves and the soft creaking of bent summer branches. Too dark to see anything, too much undergrowth in the way, but Stocke slid in between it and Rosch with a quiet, 'Keep moving," his blank eyes suddenly colder.
The noises didn't stop, though they paused momentarily whenever the two of them talked, as if someone was holding one foot (paw? hoof? something else?) in the air to listen in. Their owner didn't attack either - but then, not many minutes later, it was joined by another stalker on the other side of the road.